


Just as Simple as a Change of Your Heart

by tiedyepieinthesky



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, John's A+ Parenting, M/M, Minor character death at some point, Some Fluff, Traumatic Injury, mentions of Sam/Jess - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-07-26 08:08:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 30,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7566670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiedyepieinthesky/pseuds/tiedyepieinthesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things haven't exactly been easy for Dean.  Ever since John had that stroke a few years back, he's been in charge of running the auto-shop.  To make matters worse, Sam's away at college, so Dean is the only one who can visit John regularly, and the hospital makes him miserable.  That is, until he is almost literally run over by a man in a wheelchair with stunning blue eyes.  Suddenly, his once-a-month visits become once-a-week visits, then he's at the hospital nearly every day.  Things are pretty perfect, but then, when have things stayed perfect for Dean Winchester?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When the Clock Broke

The moment Dean walks through those automatic glass doors, he feels himself tense up. God he hates hospitals. The sterile smell and distinctly indistinct furniture and colors have become all but too familiar to him over the past two and a half years. He reminds himself to breathe, and his grip on the flowers in his hand tightens as he walks up to the front desk. He doesn’t have to say anything, she recognizes him.

“Here you are, Mr. Winchester,” she says with a smile.

“Thanks,” he murmurs. In different circumstances, he would wink at her, maybe even stay and chat for a while longer, but he associates her with this place, so he just offers her a nod and heads to the elevator.

Without thinking, he presses the button for the third floor and begins to count. When he reaches twelve, the doors slide open. Like clockwork, he thinks to himself. But then, he comes at exactly four thirty on the first Tuesday of every month, so in many ways he has become a cog and is in no position to complain. The flowers he holds are the brightest thing in the dull, grey hall. Even the people he passes, patients or otherwise seem lifeless. Dean wonders if this place drains them or if it’s the other way around.

He hates coming to the hospital and only does it once a month, but ever since John had that stroke, he’s felt a sort of obligation to visit him. Dean tells himself it’s because Sam is away at college, so he’s the only one who can, but on a deeper level, he knows that he’s still seeking John’s approval. If his father were to wake up today, which Dean simultaneously hopes he does and doesn’t, he wants to be able to tell him that he’s been here waiting the whole time.

He turns the corner and sees the door with a cheap, plastic sign reading “307”. It looms over him, daring him to go inside and face the shell of the man who has always been everything to Dean: his dreams, his nightmares, his whole life. His free hand rests on the knob. He inhales and pushes it open as he releases his breath.

There he is.

Even as he lies there unconscious, John Winchester wears a scowl.  His hair is more grey than black now, and Dean hasn’t seen his cold blue eyes in years, and it dawns on him that his father has also become part of the scenery.  He averts his eyes as if John would scold him for staring and reaches for the flowers Ellen sent.  She visited a month or so back and complained that the room lacked color, a few days later, the flowers appeared.  Ellen instructed him to replace them when she called last week.  Dean had had to stop himself from laughing as he imagined his father’s face when he saw his son walking into his room with a bouquet of flowers.  Nonetheless, it makes Ellen happy, so he grabs the brown, withered stalks from the cheap, plastic vase.  He considers replacing the water, but figures it doesn’t matter that much--he is the only one who will see them anyway, and he isn’t going to be back for another month, so the flowers will be dead whether or not they had fresh water.

As he holds Ellen’s shriveled flowers in his hands, he glances once more at his father and can’t help but think that they are more appropriate for the setting.

 

After fifteen excruciating minutes sitting beside his father, debating for what feels like the millionth time whether or not to try and talk to him, Dean leaves, his familial duty complete. He shuts the door quietly behind him and heads toward the elevators. He turns the corner and is nearly run over by a man in a wheelchair being pushed by a woman with dark hair and nurse’s scrubs.

“Watch where you’re going!” she says at the same time the man says, “I’m so sorry!” She looks down at him, disbelief and affection mixing on her features.

“My bad,” Dean says with an appeasing smile. He begins to turn, when the man looks up. He has stunning eyes, almost unnaturally blue. Light stubble decorates his chin and his dark hair is wild, like it hasn’t been brushed properly for some time.

“Don’t worry about it,” the man replies with a grin. “I convinced Meg to let me race on this floor since there are rarely people down here, and we took the corner without looking.”

Dean doesn’t hear a word.

“I’m Dean,” he says when he realizes that he’s been looking at the man for too long. Someone else might have noticed that Dean waited just a few seconds too long to reply, or taken the flabbergasted look on his face as rude, but Cas sees neither of those things. He sees a nice man with pretty green eyes smiling at him.

“I’m Cas,” he replies. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dean.”

“No, the pleasure’s all mine,” Dean says playfully.

“Cas,” Meg interrupts impatiently. “You’ve got to get to physical therapy.”

“Oh,” he says, making no effort to hide his disappointment. “Well, see you around, Dean.”

Before Dean can think of a response, Meg pushes Cas around the corner. Physical therapy isn’t for another fifteen minutes, but she had a bad feeling about that Dean character, and wanted to get Cas away from him.

Although they disappear from Dean’s sight, he can still hear Cas’s deep voice excitedly talking to Meg.

“Well the official term is apiculture, I learned that yesterday, but beekeeping is just such a noble profession, so important…”

What she doesn’t know is that she’s too late. Dean listens with fascination. He isn’t entirely sure why, but hope starts to bubble in his chest for the first time in almost eight years.

 

“Yeah, Sam, I’ve got to go. I’m going to go visit Dad. Yeah, I was there last week. What? I want to replace the flowers. Shut up, Sammy, I swear to God it’s a damn good thing you’re all the way in California--”

Dean stares at his phone, stunned. The little bastard hung up on him.

Nearly two thousand miles away, Sam stares at his phone, stunned. Dean never visits the hospital more than once a month. He stands there for a moment, considering what could possibly get his brother to return so quickly, when he hears the door open and shut, then Jessica’s voice calling out that she’s home. He slips the phone into his pocket. Dean probably just found a cute nurse or something.

Shaking off his brother’s skepticism, Dean snatches his keys from their hook by the door and leaves with fresh flowers in his grasp and a grin on his face.

The woman at the front desk is surprised for a number of reasons. First of all, Dean Winchester is back--wasn’t he just here a week ago? Second, he’s holding flowers again. And most startling of all, he’s grinning.

“Good afternoon,” he greets her. “How are you?”

She stutters, “I’m f-f-f-fine thanks. Are you alright, Mr. Winchester?”

“I’m great, and please, call me Dean.”  
With that, he accepts his visitor pass from her and saunters to the elevator. What a wonderful day.

Dean stops by his father’s room, replaces the flowers and the water, then nervously takes a breath. He knows that the odds of seeing Cas again are very slim. Cas could’ve been there for an appendectomy and only staying the night. He could be sleeping. He could be on any floor, what are the odds of running to him twice in a ward where all the patients are in long term care _and_ unconscious?

Still, Dean peers into the hall, hoping, praying to see him.

The only person in the hall is the man sitting at the desk boredly looking at a computer screen. When he sees Dean looking at him, he smiles and gives a small wave, but Dean just pouts and walks back to the elevator. It was stupid to think he’d see Cas again, he reasons. With dashed hopes, he presses the down button and waits impatiently for the elevator to reach his floor. The doors open and there he is.

There he is.

Cas is animatedly telling Meg about beekeeping in popular culture and at first doesn’t even notice Dean’s presence in the elevator.

“Sherlock Holmes was a beekeeper,” Cas informs her.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Meg replies with an adoring smile.

Dean’s feels a weight in his chest when he sees her expression. At the same time he thinks, No way, nurses can’t… and How could I not see that before? Either way, his cheeks burn as the doors open and he rushes out. Dean can’t swear to it, but he thinks he hears Cas ask Meg if she thinks that man looked familiar as he strides past the front desk and out the door.


	2. Possibly a Masochist

The only good that came out of his early visit is it gives Dean four weeks instead of three before he has to go back.  Sam asks about it when he calls on Sunday, like he always does, but Dean tells him to drop it with so much venom in his words that Sam apologizes and promises not to bring it up again.  

“I have some news,” Sam says after a few moments of awkward silence.

“Yeah?”  Dean is only half listening to Sam as he sorts through the mail.   _ Bill, bill, bill _ …

“I’m not coming home this summer,” Sam blurts.  

That gets Dean’s attention.  Sam waits for Dean to respond anxiously.  Dean can imagine his little brother sitting on his bed in his closet of a dorm room, shoulders practically to his ears and his forehead wrinkled in anticipation.

“How come?” Dean says at last.  He makes a conscious effort to stay calm and keep the disappointment out of his voice.  “Don’t you miss me?” he adds, only partially joking.

“Of course, Dean!” Sam exclaims, having heard the hurt in Dean’s voice despite his best efforts.  “It’s just...things with Jess are getting sort of serious--”

“ _ Sort of _ serious?” 

“Okay, fine, sort of  _ really _ serious,” Sam admits.  “And we’re moving in together, and I don’t want to make her wait until fall…”

“Oh!”  Dean hadn’t realized things were _that_ serious.  Yeah he’d heard the smile in Sam’s voice when he talked about Jess and he figured the two were in pretty deep, but he definitely did not expect them to move in together.  “Well, congrats, Sammy!  That’s fantastic!”  
“Yeah?” Sam asked.

Dean grins.  He loves that his brother still asks for his approval.  It makes him feel needed.  “Yeah.  I’m happy for you.”

Sam exhales a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  “Thanks man, that means a lot to me.  I am going to miss you though.”

“Me too,” Dean agrees truthfully.  He had been looking forward to seeing Sam, but hey, the kid’s growing up.  It had just been a matter of time.

“Well either way, I’ll still call every Sunday and will definitely be home for Thanksgiving.”  
“Looking forward to it,” Dean says.  “Okay, don’t do anything stupid.  Bye, Sammy.”

It just isn’t Dean’s week. 

 

As long as four weeks sounds, it isn’t very long at all when the thing at the end of it is as dreaded as visiting John has become.  Especially now that he risks running into Cas every time he goes back there.  The prospect of seeing Cas has turned a chore into a Herculean challenge.  Nevertheless, he hauls himself into the Impala, without flowers this time, and drives slower than necessary the two miles to the hospital.  Dean imagines Sam sitting in the passenger seat laughing as he calls him a grandma and he picks up the pace a bit as he smiles sadly.  It’s going to be a long summer without Sam.

The woman at the front desk grins when she sees him and offers him his visitor pass.  Dean sees her face drop when he just gives her his usual tired nod.  He chuckles as he gets into the elevator.   _ Oh, honey, it’s not you, it’s me _ .

Well, some things become clichés for a reason.

At the second floor, the elevator stops so an impatient doctor can get in.  Even as she pushes the button, she flips through a clipboard, eyes dancing over the words as if on a hunt.  Dean watches the door close and catches a glimpse of tousled dark hair and hears a melodic, genuine laugh right as the doors snap shut.  Acting on impulse, he hits the button that opens the doors and darts out before they’ve parted all the way.

Sure enough, Cas and Meg disappear into a room marked “Physical Therapy”.  Dean considers following them but decides that would seem stalkerish rather than romantic-- _ it’s hard to tell the difference sometimes _ , he muses.  Regardless, he doesn’t want to intrude on him and Meg, who clearly have something between them, so he turns to spend his monthly fifteen minutes of silence with his father, and nearly walks into someone.

“I’m so sorry!” he exclaims.

“Oh don’t--hey Dean!” she says when she realizes who it is. 

“Jo!” he says, disappointment and hurt giving way to relief and joy.  “I didn’t know you were volunteering today.”

“They were short staffed today so I offered to come in and help out.  What are you doing on this floor, John’s up--”

“I know, third floor,” he interrupts.  “Hey, Jo, do you know who that man is?”

Jo makes no effort whatsoever to hide her surprise.  “You mean Cas?”

“Yes!” he practically shouts.  Internally scolding himself, he continues, “I mean, yeah, I think so.”

“Well, I’m not technically supposed to talk about patients…” she begins, but takes in his earnest expression and her shoulders slump.  “But for you, I’ll make an exception.  You didn’t hear it from me, but Cas is a long term patient.  He’s on the fourth floor in one of the rooms on the right.  That’s all I know.”

“Thanks, Jo!  You’re the best,” he says with a huge smile.  He plants a kiss on her cheek and practically skips to the elevator.

Jo starts to ask why Dean wants to know about Cas, but instead finds herself wondering what the hell got into him.  Before she can formulate her thoughts into a coherent question, Dean’s already in the elevator, waving at her as the doors close.  She’ll just call Sam later.  He’s the only one who can make sense of Dean anyway.

 

A week later, Dean gets out of the Impala and absently considers what he’s doing.  Why is he putting himself through this?  No good can come from building up his hopes again and again knowing full well that they’ll just be dashed.   _ I must be a masochist _ , he decides.  It’s the only logical explanation.

It occurs to him as he approaches the front desk that he has never bothered to learn her name. 

“Here you are, Mr. Winchester,” she says tiredly as she hands him his visitor pass.

“Please, call me Dean,” he says with a tentative smile.  “I’m sorry for last week.  I was in a shitty mood and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“That’s okay,” she replies.  “We all have those days.”

“Yeah, I suppose we do--” he glances at her keycard, “Laura.”

She beams at his use of her name.

“Have a nice day, Dean,” she says as he heads toward the elevator.  Well, at least he doesn’t have to worry about that anymore.

Dean does his time in 307.  It’s uncomfortable, but if it helps him sleep at night, he’ll do it.  As he steps out of the room, however, he feels his heart start to beat a little faster.  Damn traitor.

_ Well _ , he supposes.   _ I’ve been coming here for years, and I’ve never even seen the fourth floor _ .   _ I’m human, I’m allowed to be curious about things I’ve never seen _ …

He presses the button for the floor right above him and wonders if it’s possible to slow one’s heart by force of will.  If it is, he hasn’t learned how.  Remembering Jo’s words, he turns right and tries to appear nonchalant as he glances into each of the rooms.  A few are closed, and he makes note of those, hoping that they’ll be open when he comes back.  That is, if he doesn’t find Cas’s room before then.

As if on cue, he sees Meg step out of a room wearing casual clothes and grinning. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she promises.  “Yes, I’ll get it from the library.  Bye, my unicorn.”

Dean’s breath catches in his throat when he realizes that she may turn around and see him.  The last thing he wants is a confrontation with Meg. Fortunately, she continues walking away from him, humming softly and thinking of the best bus to take to the library as she walks.

Dean breathes a sigh of relief and dashes to the door, forcing himself to calm down as he knocks gently.   _ Don’t screw this up _ , he reminds himself.

“Come in,” a cheerful voice calls.   _ The  _ cheerful voice.

“Hey,” Dean calls as he opens the door. “It’s--”

“Dean!” Cas says, his smile growing wider as he announces proudly,  “I remember!”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees.  “I don’t mean to intrude or anything--”

“Oh, you’re not,” Cas assures him.  “Meg just left, and I was just thinking to myself, ‘What are you going to do now’, then you came in.  It’s like fate!”

_ Fate _ , Dean considers.   _ Perhaps. _

Unsure of how to respond to that, Dean sits down in the cheap chair beside Cas’s bed.  It’s identical to the one in John’s room, but he tries not think about that.

“How are you?” Dean asks, then grimaces.  Cas is in a hospital, how good can he be?

“I’m doing well,” he replies.  “How are you, Dean?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

There is a pause which Dean finds incredibly awkward and Cas doesn’t notice at all.  

“What are you reading?” Dean says, gesturing at the pile of books next to his bed.

Cas beams and Dean realizes immediately that he’s opened a can of worms.  “I’m reading about beekeeping!  It’s fascinating.  Did you know Sherlock Holmes was a beekeeper?”

Dean laughs.  “I had heard that, yes.  Are you a beekeeper?”   


“Oh God no, bees terrify me.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just bursts into laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Cas asks, concerned and possibly a little hurt.  He hasn’t decided yet.

“You love beekeeping, but you’re scared of bees?”

“Yes,” Cas affirms.  He doesn’t understand why Dean is repeating what he’s just said.  

Dean shakes his head with a grin.  Cas can’t help but admire the way his eyes shine when he’s happy.  Cas decides it will be his mission to be personally responsible for as many of those smiles as possible.

Dean decides he might not be a masochist after all.


	3. More Questions Than Answers

“Did you meet somebody?” Sam demands.  Dean pictures Sam with that accusing look in his eyes, phone held to his ear with his shoulder as he works on something else.  

“Why would you think that?” Dean replies, trying and failing to be nonchalant.  

“That’s a yes.”

“No, it’s not.”

Sam groans.  “You can tell me, Dean!  Just because I’m away at college doesn’t mean you get to stop updating me on your life—God knows I didn’t.  If you’ve met someone, I want to know.”

Dean bites his lip and considers his options.  He never told Sam about his interest in men because for a long time, he wasn’t clear about it himself.  After the incident when he was sixteen, he vowed never to tell anyone.  Over the years,  _ anyone _ has become  _ immediate family _ , and at the moment, Sam is the only remaining member of that particular group.  Regardless, Dean has grown a lot in nearly seven years and has been planning to tell Sam for a while, but he decides that this is definitely not the time or the place.

“Look, Sammy, I’m just visiting the hospital more because I feel like someone should.  If I were in Dad’s shoes, I would want my sons to visit me more than once a month.”

Dean feels a little bad for guilt-tripping Sam about staying home for the summer and not visiting John very much, but it does shut him up, and Dean takes the small victory with a relieved sigh.

Fortunately for both of them, a few moments later, Jess opens the door and announces that she’s home with dinner.  Sam excuses himself, and the two part after promises to call again the following week.  Neither is content with the way they ended the call, and both promise to mend things later.

The moment the phone is back in his pocket, however, Dean’s thoughts are back to the strange man with the gorgeous blue eyes.  Ever since their long conversation a few weeks ago, (the nurse had to make Dean leave when visiting hours were over) Dean has made a point of coming to the hospital at least once a week, but this week he’s already been twice and plans to go back tomorrow.

He’s smitten to say the least.

It scares the shit out of him.

He usually makes an effort to move slowly, test the waters, protect himself, but something about Cas makes him want to throw caution to the wind.  Maybe it’s the child-like innocence he seems to have with social situations and innuendo.  Maybe it’s the breathtaking smiles.  Maybe it’s the way his laugh never fails to make Dean smile.

No matter the cause, Dean can’t seem to stop thinking about Cas.  It would be annoying if it didn’t keep him in such a good mood.  Even the guys at the autoshop have commented on their substitute-boss’s cheerful demeanor.  

Dean curses himself for not being more discreet with Sam, however.  Sam knows him too well not to notice the tell-tale signs and put two and two together.  Hell, Sam had him figured out the minute he told him he was going to the hospital only a week after his previous visit.  Dean should’ve known better.

Even as he’s thinking about it, he knows that Sam may have dropped it for now, but he’ll bring it up again.  That should worry Dean.  It really should.

He’s too happy to be worried.

Dean glances at the oven clock in the kitchen.  Two forty five.  Why wait until tomorrow?  Without so much as a second thought, Dean grabs the keys and is out the door.

 

“Good afternoon, Laura.  How are you today?” he asks with a smile as he approaches the front desk.  

She returns his smile and hands him his visitor pass.  “I’ve been alright.  How’re  _ you _ today, Dean?”

“Fantastic,” he replies automatically.

Laura laughs.  “I’m glad to hear it.  Have a nice visit, Dean.”

“I hope so, Laura.”  
Dean whistles as he walks to the elevator.  He’ll visit John on his way out, he decides.  He’s too excited to talk to Cas to wait.

When he reaches the fourth floor, he almost jumps through the doors and has to remind himself to walk—not run—down the hall to Cas’s room.  With a book about beekeeping in his left hand, he raises his right to knock lightly on the door, but it opens to reveal the stunned then irritated face of Meg.

“Oh, it’s you,” she says, frustration coloring her tone as well as her features.

“Hi, Meg,” Dean replies.  He keeps his smile but can already feel his mood being dampened by her cold glare.  “How are you today?”

“Just dandy.  I assume you’re here to see Cas?”

He nods.  Doesn’t she have other patients to look after?

“Don’t keep him too long, he’s had a rough day,” she instructs.  Before he can ask her why, or even breathe, she pushes past him and strides down the hall.  By the time he formulates a question, she has disappeared around a corner and is out of earshot.

He shakes off the encounter and pokes his head through the now open door.

“Hey, Cas.  Is this a good time?”   Dean doesn’t bother trying to cover the hope in his voice.

“Always,” Cas replies with a grin.  “Please, come in.”

Dean closes the door quietly behind him and takes a seat at the chair beside Cas’s bed.  When he’s settled, he offers Cas the book. 

“I brought this for you.  I saw it at the bookstore the other day and thought you might like it.”  Dean hesitates, watching Cas’s expression, which doesn’t change.  As he waits for Cas to react, he starts to get nervous.  “But if you don’t like it or have already read it, that’s okay too.  I can take it back, I can—”

“It’s perfect,” Cas interrupts.  He looks up to meet Dean’s eyes before continuing.  “Thank you, Dean.  This is very thoughtful.”  
Dean beams.  He can’t help it, really.  Not that he would.

“That’s good,” he breathes.  “I’m glad you like it.”

For a few moments, neither of them say anything.  They just hold each other’s gaze.  Dean is the first one to break away, smiling sheepishly as he finds a new interest in his hands.  Cas doesn’t understand why he would do that.  He was enjoying looking into Dean’s eyes and trying to count all the different colors.

“Meg mentioned you’re having a rough day?” Dean says, breaking what he saw as an uncomfortable silence.  Cas didn’t notice a thing.

A shadow seems to fall over Cas’s features.  “Oh, yes.  I had physical therapy today and it was very exhausting.  I’m glad it’s over.”

“Oh.  What was exhausting about it?”  Dean adds quickly when he sees the look on  Cas’s face, “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine too.”

“No, it’s okay,” Cas assures him.  He turns his attention to the corner of his blanket and begins to pick at a loose thread.  “I’m just not making very much progress.  I’ve already been here for ten months, but I still can’t walk.  I’m told I also have ‘trouble with memory, organization, decision making, completing complex tasks, understanding writing, reading cues from listeners, difficulty in social situations, insomnia, and impaired hand eye coordination’.  It gets tiring going through the same motions and not seeing different results.”

Dean remembers a quote he heard once about the definition of insanity but refrains from mentioning it to Cas. 

A new silence settles over them, and even Cas finds it uncomfortable.

“Cas?” 

“Yes, Dean?”

Dean doesn’t meet Cas’s eyes as he asks softly, “Why are you in the hospital?”

Cas’s eyes remain firmly trained on his blanket as his fingers tug on the thread.  The woven blanket is beginning to unravel, but Dean doesn’t say anything, and Cas either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.  Probably both.

When Cas doesn’t reply after a full minute, Dean whispers that it’s okay.  Cas doesn’t have to tell him.  Cas nods almost imperceptibly.  Dean gets up to go.

“No, wait!” Cas exclaims.  “Please don’t leave.”

The clear panic in Cas’s eyes and voice startle Dean.  Without thinking about it, he sits back down and murmurs that he’ll stay a little while longer.  Cas thanks him with a small smile and a grateful look in his eyes.

Dean asks him if he’s learned anything interesting about beekeeping since they last spoke.  Cas’s face lights up again, as if the rest of that conversation had never happened.  As Dean listens to Cas explain how beekeeping has advanced in recent years, he realizes how much the scared look on Cas’s face hurt him.  He wonders if he should be worried about it.  When Cas reaches for his hand excitedly, likely unconsciously, Dean forgets to be concerned and for the first time in years, doesn’t have to remind himself to be happy.


	4. Realizations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So from this point on, more details are going to come up about Cas's condition. I don't have what he does, nor do I personally know anyone who does, so please be forgiving of any mistakes and correct me on anything in the comments as the story progresses so I can fix it. Thanks for reading!

The sharp corner of the book jabs Dean in the side as he struggles to close the door of the Impala without dropping anything.  In retrospect, bringing all four books plus flowers wasn’t his brightest idea, but he’s made the bed, now he has to lie in it.  Leaning significantly to his right so the books balance against his side, Dean slowly walks into the hospital lobby.  He can’t see anything ahead of him because his eyes dart between the tower of books in his hand and his feet, but he hears Laura laugh and follows the sound to the front desk.

“Do you need help?” she offers when she catches her breath.

“No,” Dean retorts, trying to sound irritated, but really trying to keep himself from laughing as well.  The situation truly is ridiculous.  

Laura comes around the desk and sticks Dean’s visitor pass to his back.  “There you go.”  

She also calls the elevator for him and presses the button for the third floor once he’s inside.

“Have a good visit,” she says.  She never thought she would see Dean Winchester happy like this, but she’s glad she was wrong.

“I will,” he promises as the doors shut.

He doesn’t realize that he’s arrived on the third floor instead of the fourth until he reaches the place where Cas’s room would be and walks inside.  Fortunately, or unfortunately really, the patient inside is unconscious and doesn’t notice Dean sauntering into her room complaining about the traffic.  Dean doesn’t notice either until he has set the books down and waits for Cas to comment on his presence.  When his hands are free, he looks up and asks Cas if he’s okay.  His eyes land on the comatose woman in front of him and several things go through his mind almost at all once.

_ Where the hell is Cas?  Did they move him?  Is he out of the hospital? _

Followed immediately by,  _ Did they take him out of long term care because something happened?  Is he in the ICU? _

Dean darts out of the room, leaving his books and flowers behind, and runs up to the nurse’s station where a young man is typing with a determined look in his eyes.

“Hi, I’m looking for Cas—” 

It is then Dean realizes that he doesn’t know Cas’s lastname, or even if Cas is short for something.  The young man looks up, startled, and smiles when he recognizes Dean.

Dean finally takes a breath and looks at the person in front of him for the first time.

“Don’t you usually work on the third floor?” Dean asks, concern fading to confusion.

Before he even has an opportunity to reply, Dean looks around and sees all the room numbers begin with three.

“Um...never mind,” Dean says.  His cheeks burn as he practically runs back to get his books and flowers so he can escape the embarrassing situation he’s created for himself.  Obviously Laura wouldn’t know to send him to the fourth floor, officially he’s been visiting John the entire time, and even if he hadn’t, he’s John’s son and has exclusively visited John for two and half years.  It wouldn’t make sense for her to assume he’d be here for anyone else.

And yet, he absolutely panicked when he’d thought something had happened to Cas.  

His terror about Cas transformed into a new fear.  He has become attached, and that never works out for Dean Winchester.

 

“Hey,” Dean calls after poking his head into the room to make absolutely sure that it is the right one.

“Hey,” Cas calls back, but Dean immediately notices a strain in his voice.

With the books on the right nightstand and the flowers in John’s room, he can get a proper look around him.  Meg has her arm wrapped around Cas and is guiding him into a wheelchair beside the bed.

“What’s going on?” Dean asks, worried, not for the first time today, that something has happened.

“Physical therapy got rescheduled,” Cas replies.  He looks at Dean apologetically as Meg begins wheeling him toward the door.  Dean jumps out of the way and can’t help but wonder if she meant to run over his foot.

Meg curses silently.  Stupid Winchester with his stupid good reflexes.

It’s only been three days since Dean last saw Cas, but he’s gotten used to seeing him every two, and sometimes he comes by everyday if he can get away from work, so he’s a little desperate to talk to Cas.  Even as he thinks about it, he imagines the way the edges of Cas’s eyes crinkle when he laughs and the way his soft hand feels atop Dean’s.

“Can I come?” Dean asks.  

Meg stops in her tracks and turns around to shoot Dean a look that can only be described as demonic.

Cas looks up at her, uncertain.  “Can he?”

She scowls but meets Cas’s eyes.  As much as she would like to send Dean packing, she can’t bring herself to deny Cas one of the few pleasures he gets at this hospital.  Nine months here, and Dean is the only person besides herself who has come to visit him.

Stifling a groan, she replies, “I suppose, as long as he doesn’t interfere or disrupt.”

Dean and Cas look at each other like two children whose mother has just allowed them to get ice cream.

“Of course not,” Dean assures her.  He falls in step beside Cas and excitedly tells him about the new books he’s brought.

Meg bites her lip.  Apparently she’s not going to the library again this week.  Apparently she’s not going to get to make Cas smile.

At least he’s smiling.

 

Around thirty minutes into his session, Cas looks like he’s on the verge of tears.

“I can’t do it,” he murmurs for the tenth time.  “I just can’t.”

The physical therapist patiently replies, “You can, but you have to believe it.”

Meg left almost immediately after dropping Cas off to tend to other patients.  Dean breathed out an involuntary sigh of relief when she shut the door behind her.  That woman scares him more than he cares to admit.

“I’m not strong enough,” Cas protests.  “I haven’t moved in months.  My legs aren’t used to it.”   


“Bull shit,” Dean declares.

Both the physical therapist and Cas turn to look at him.

“What?” Cas asks, stunned.

“Bull shit.  You’re stronger than most people.  You’re stronger than me.  Don’t you ever believe you can’t do something because you’re ‘not strong enough’.”

When the shock fades, the physical therapist smiles.  “What he said.”

Cas sighs, but doesn’t complain as he goes through the exercises a few more times.

“Alright, let’s try to take a step again,” she says as she coaxes Cas into standing.  He wears a terrified expression and opens his mouth to argue, but then he glances up.  Dean chews on his lip, and his eyes are wide with hope.

Cas takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes.

He feels his foot rise and fall.  To most people, it’s a completely average experience, to feel one’s foot rise and fall, but to Cas this is the greatest victory he’s had in months.  

With a wide smile, the physical therapist eases Cas back into his chair.  “Great job, Cas.”

“That was amazing!” Dean exclaims, forgetting himself and rushing over.  “I’m so proud of you!”

When he said it, Dean didn’t really think about it.  He doesn’t think about the implication of those words, even after they leave his lips. 

Cas catches it, however.  To hear Dean say that means the world to him.  So much so, that he’s hesitant to believe Dean is genuine.

“Really?” he asks.

“Of course!”  Dean laughs.  “You just walked!”

Cas grins and holds out his hand.  Almost without thinking, Dean grabs it and meets his eyes.  It might feel natural and easy if the contact didn’t burn.  Dean could lose himself in it, if it didn’t feel so painfully familiar.


	5. Difficult Decisions

"You sound different," Sam accuses.

"Thanks?" Dean replies.

"I'm serious, Dean. Has something happened?"

Dean considers this. In a way, something has. He's woken up happy for four days in a row. Although he misses Sam immensely, it no longer feels like an omnipresent weight on his chest.

"Eh, kind of."  Dean decides to be noncommittal. It gives him more time to decide how much to tell Sam, and it drives Sam crazy. Win win.

"Well?"

"I may have made a friend."

As soon as it’s out of his mouth, Dean cringes.  Sam will, of course, read into that.

"I KNEW IT! Who is she?" Sam demands. "Does she work at the hospital?"

Dean has wedged himself between a rock and a hard place. He either corrects Sam and tells him that it's actually a "he", the rest of which Sam will piece together quickly, or he lets Sam believe Cas is a woman. Deep down, he knows he has to tell Sam—and soon at the rate things are going.  And yet...

"My friend is a patient."

Silence on the other line.

"Um...okay. That was extraordinarily vague, but alright. Does your friend make you happy?"

This one, Dean doesn't have to think about for even a moment.

"Yes."

"Then I'm happy for you," Sam says, and he means it. He doesn't know exactly what happened to Dean when he was in high school, but he does know he hasn't been in a steady relationship since, and it's worried Sam to no end.

Dean believes him, but he can't help but wonder if he would feel differently if he knew who his friend is. Dean never knows how deeply John corrupted his sons, himself included.

They exchange promises to call again soon and sad goodbyes. Their understandings of what they just talked about may differ, but the dull ache of distance between brothers remains the same.

 

Dean goes to the hospital that afternoon missing Sam like a wound that had just begun to scab torn open anew. He hopes that seeing Cas will cheer him up and let him forget about his little brother and the secret he carries for a few hours. When he arrives at Cas's room, however, he finds him asleep, curled up on the flimsy hospital bed and breathing evenly.

It's odd for Cas to sleep at this time, (Dean always comes at 4:30) but he just shrugs and turns to leave the way he came only to find the furious figure of Meg blocking his way.

"Jesus!" Dean exclaims. "You don't have to sneak up on people!"

Meg ignores his statements completely. "What do you want with Cas?"

"What?" That is not what Dean had expected. "What do you mean 'what do I want with him'?"

Meg rolls her eyes and sighs in exasperation. "Why do you keep visiting him? What do you hope to gain by letting him get attached to you? What's your endgame? Any of this clicking with you?"

Dean looks at her like she's sprouted an extra head.

"I don't hope to gain anything! He's a nice guy—"

"Oh cut the crap. You aren't here every day because 'he's a nice guy'."

For a long moment, Dean and Meg glare at each other. Both daring the other to break.

"Fine!" Dean says at last. "I like him. A lot. Is that a crime?"

"No," Meg says. The offensive tone of just a minute ago faded to a tired one. "Do you know why he's here?"

"Why he's in the hospital?" Dean clarifies.

"Yes."

"No, I don't." Dean's morose mood worsens slightly as he remembers Cas's reaction when he asked him.

Meg taps her foot as she considers her options.

"It's probably not my place to do this, but if you keep hanging around here, then you should know what happened."

Dean nods. Today has been a whirlwind. What's one more strange occurrence?

"I’m off in ten minutes. Meet me in the cafeteria."

Before Dean can say another word, she's gone

 

The cold white numbers on his phone screen blink unforgivingly at him as he checks the time for the fifth time in two minutes.   _Where is she_?  Dean wonders, not for the first time, if he’s being stood up.  Part of him, a big part of him, wants to get up and leave.  Cas is asleep, he visited John briefly on his way up to Cas’s room, there’s nothing left for him here.

But he can’t bring himself to potentially miss learning about what happened to Cas.  On one hand, he wants to know everything about Cas.  He wants to know why Cas loves bees, what his favorite time of day is, and most importantly, what makes him who he is, and he can’t shake the feeling that whatever happened to get Cas in here is a big part of that.  If Meg knows anything about Cas, Dean will wait for her.  It’s worth it.

When twenty five minutes have come and gone, Dean curses himself for believing Meg in the first place.  She’s never liked Dean, in fact, she’s made it quite clear that she _dis_ likes Dean.  Why did he ever think she would help him?  Feeling like a fool, he stands up and begins to pull on his jacket.

“Leaving so soon?  I just sat down.”

Once Dean’s heart has remembered to beat at a normal pace, he sits back down and looks accusingly at Meg.

“You scared the shit out of me.”  

First she makes him wait nearly a half hour, now she’s startling him.  She’s really not making it easy to like her.

Meg smiles.  She means to look smug, but she’s still wearing her scrubs with a navy blue sweater thrown haphazardly over them; her dark curls are limp and unruly, as though they haven’t been washed for several days; dark circles are smudged under her eyes, and she looks more exhausted than content.

“If I’m going to do this, I’m going to need a cup of coffee,” she announces and saunters over to the counter.  She talks to the cashier for a minute, laughing and gesturing vaguely toward the ward where she works.  She even reaches over and touches the woman’s arm.  It’s very friendly and...human.  More human than Dean has ever seen her.  He wants to keep hating her, his past experience certainly justifies it, but he feels a seed of sympathy settle and knows he can’t.

Meg returns with two cups of coffee in her hands and a handful of sugar packets in her sweater pocket.

“I don’t know how you take your coffee.  I can go back and get some creamer if  you like…”

“No,” he says with a small, and what he hopes is disarming, smile.  “This is perfect.”

She nods and sits down once more across from him.  Her hands rest on the ceramic mug for a few moments before she lifts it up to take a sip.  After a moment of thought, she adds two packets of sugar and stirs it gently, her eyes never leaving her cup.

When she speaks, however, her dark gaze meets Dean’s steadily and with a chilling sincerity.  “You cannot tell Cas that I told you any of this.  You can’t even ask him about it, because if he hears a detail that he knows you shouldn’t know, then he’ll know what I did, and he’ll never forgive me.”

Dean nods, although he still doesn’t understand why everything is so shrouded in secrecy.

“You have to promise,” she says, her tone urgent.

“I promise.  You have my word.”

Meg takes a deep breath and shuts her eyes for just a moment, taking it all in, preparing herself for what she’s about to do.

“Alright,” she says at last.  “It started when I was in school to become a nurse.  To pay for it, I was working two part time jobs and going to school full time.  I was lucky to get four hours of sleep a night, and I was starting to question why I was putting myself through it all.  Sometimes, when I was lucky, I could schedule it so I wouldn’t have to work either job one night, and I could go out.  Looking back, I probably should’ve just stayed home, studied a little, or slept a few extra hours, but I wanted that ‘college experience’, so I would go out and find a frat party or something.  Really, I just wanted to feel connected.  Well, at one of those frat parties I met some guys.  The party was pretty dead, and we’d been drinking, talking, drinking some more, and they told me they’d heard of a really crazy party a mile or so away.  God, I was so naive…”

She trails off, losing herself for a moment in the memories she’s pushed down for months.  Meg wonders why she’s putting herself through this for someone she doesn’t even know, much less care about.  Then she remembers.  She’s not doing it for Dean.  She’s doing it for Cas.

“That’s, er, interesting, but what does it have to do with Cas?” Dean asks when Meg hasn’t said anything for almost a minute.

“I’m getting there.”  She means to snap at him, but it sounds too soft to be biting.

He nods, motioning her to continue.

Gathering her courage and preparing herself for the worst of it, Meg says, “Now, don’t get me wrong, I was no angel.  I’d been drinking since high school and had smoked lots of pot in my day, but at that party, they had _everything_.  Coke, heroin, meth, you name it, someone was doing it.  To be honest, it freaked me out at first, but those guys talked about it like it was so easy and so relaxing, and there was nothing I wanted more than to relax and escape all the shit for a few hours, or even a few minutes.”

Meg chuckles and shakes her head slightly.

“But then it’s never just one party, is it?” she murmurs.  “So every night I got off, I was with those guys, and soon, they couldn’t always come with me, so I started going by myself.  At this point, I’d taken some coke back to help me get my homework done, but it wasn’t calming like I wanted.  I wouldn’t let myself do anything besides coke outside of those parties, so I started skipping classes to go to those parties.  I couldn’t miss work, but I was doing fine in school, and I figured a class here or there wouldn’t matter, and it didn’t, until a few classes a month became a few classes a week.  In a few months, I was missing more classes than I was attending.  I wasn’t passing any of them, and my ‘friends’ at the time asked me why I didn’t just drop out, so I did.  I lost the jobs after a lot of sloppy mistakes shortly after, and the worst part is _I didn’t even care_.

“I didn’t—don’t—really have any family I could crash with, so I shacked up with whoever would take me.  Some let me stay with them for a week, some only for the night, and after a while, nobody had the patience for me, and I ended up on the street.  By then, it didn’t really matter, though.  I was never sober long enough to let it all sink in.  That would hurt too much, so I never let it happen.  

"This is when things start to get blurry.  It was a really fucking cold night, and I was starting to wish for my bed and my apartment and all that shit I lost, so I bought some...goddamn I don’t even remember what I bought.  Well, whatever it was, I did it all and overdosed.  Next thing I know, I woke up in the hospital feeling like roadkill and wishing for death.  Later, I found out that a young man had seen me on his way home from work and stopped to see what was wrong.  He called 911 and waited for the ambulance to come.  He didn’t have to.  If I’d been conscious, I would’ve told him not to, but he stayed.  While he was waiting, he was mugged.  They hit him really hard on the head.”

Meg pauses and tries to wipe away the tears forming in her eyes before Dean notices.  Dean isn’t even looking at her; he’s processing everything he just learned.

She clears her throat to try and dislodge the lump forming there before continuing.  “He has severe brain trauma and an array of side effects that come with it.  He still can’t walk more than a few steps, although I hear that’s changing since you started going with him.”

Despite the gravity of everything he’s just heard, Dean can’t help but smile, and Meg can’t help but return it.

“He’s got some other little quirks too, but that’s the big one.  That and reading.”

“He has a hard time reading?” Dean asks.  “But he goes through books so fast…”

Meg looks at Dean sadly.  “No, he doesn’t.  Sometimes I’ll read to him on my breaks, but he just flips through them.  He can’t read more than a page without getting confused or forgetting what he’s read.  I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Dean just says.  

“But the reason I’m telling you this,” Meg says with a renewed sense of purpose, “is because I promised Cas when I woke up a few days later that I would get clean and make it up to him, help him get through this, whatever he needed.  I did the first part, six months in rehab, now I’m doing a program through the hospital to finish my AA in nursing, but he’s still struggling.  When you first started coming around all the time, I worried you would just distract him, but you’re obviously doing something good for him, or he wouldn’t be doing so much better.  Or be so much happier.  So I guess what I’m trying to say is, I owe Castiel my life.  If you do anything, and I mean _anything_ to hurt him, I will hunt you down and make you regret every decision you’ve ever made that led up to that moment.  Do you understand me?”

Now, Meg can’t be taller than five foot three with arms that Dean could probably wrap his index finger and thumb around even at the thickest point, and Dean is over six feet tall and by no means frail, but in that moment, with the way she looks him in the eye and doesn’t stumble over a single syllable, he believes her.

When the shock and, well, fear have faded enough for Dean to think properly, he asks the first thing that comes to mind.

“Is that Cas’s full name?”


	6. Family Emergency

After hearing Meg explain what happened to Cas, Dean only wants to be there for him more, but fate has other ideas.  For the next three days, he has to sort out a multitude of problems at John’s shop.  He’s so busy that he even misses Sam’s call on Sunday, which scares Sam, who calls Bobby to make sure Dean’s okay.  Bobby, being in Sioux Falls and nowhere near Lawrence, calls Ellen, who drives to the Winchester family home to find it empty.  Being sensible, but admittedly beginning to freak out, she calls Jo, who’s volunteering at the hospital that day, as she sits on the porch, in case Dean is just at the store and is coming home any minute.  It’s only ten minutes later when Jo tells Ellen that Dean isn’t signed in as a visitor that Ellen allows herself to panic.

Between the four of them, none of them even consider the possibility that Dean’s working late at the autoshop.  When Dean was a child, he used to love to help John work on his ‘67 Chevy Impala.  They spent nearly every Saturday morning under that hood, Dean holding the flashlight and fetching tools while John tinkered and explained what everything was.  For years, Dean loved it.  Well, to be more specific, he loved spending time with John.

When he was sixteen, they got into a huge fight.  John dragged Dean home late one afternoon, and they never got along well after that.  Sam never found out what happened, and Dean refuses to talk about it to this day.

So naturally, Dean wasn’t exactly thrilled about the prospect of running John’s autoshop after he had his stroke.  Sam did offer to do it, but Dean has always been better with cars, and Sam had just been accepted to Stanford.  Dean didn’t want Sam to miss his opportunity to become a big-shot lawyer, and Dean’s key problem with the shop was John’s presence in it anyway.  So Dean took over Winchester Auto.

However, in the nearly three years he’s worked there, he’s only stayed there past six a handful of times, and never more than twice in a row.  Naturally, nobody thought to check there at seven thirty on a Sunday.

At eight when nobody has a clue where Dean could be, Sam is threatening to call the police, Bobby is calling him an idjit and demanding that he calm down, but is equally concerned, and Ellen is yelling at everyone to stop yelling.  Jo has left the hospital early and is driving around town fairly aimlessly hoping to stumble upon Dean somewhere.  She texts Ellen that he’s not at any of the local bars, which had been everyone’s best guess, so all four of them are beginning to get seriously worried, when Ellen hears the familiar rumble of an old engine.

Dean pulls up in the Impala doesn’t even notice Ellen until he gets out of the car and walks up to the door.

“Oh!  Hey, Ellen.  What a nice—ooof.”

Ellen rushes up and hugs Dean.  “Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re okay.” 

After a moment of relief on her part and confusion on Dean’s, she remembers that she’s furious.

“Where the hell have you been?  You had us worried sick.  Sam was going to call the police, Jo cut her shift short at the hospital, Bobby’s screaming—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a second,” Dean interrupts.  He’s been at the shop for nearly ten hours and is having trouble processing everything that has transpired in the minute and a half he’s been home.  “Why is everyone freaking out and what do you mean Sam—oh.”

He remembers what day it is.  He pulls his phone out of his pocket and sees the fifteen missed calls from Sam, the three from Bobby, five from Ellen, and two from Jo.  He doesn’t even bother to count the texts.

“Oh, Ellen, I am so sorry.  I was working late at the shop, and I guess I lost track of time.”

In the past hour, Ellen had built up a lot of scenarios in her head to explain Dean’s disappearance.   Once hospital visit and drinking binge were eliminated, she had expected that maybe he’d met someone and was with them, or he’d been mugged and was in a ditch.  Admittedly, she hadn’t been completely rational, but the last thing she’d thought he would say was that he spent more time than necessary in John’s shop.

“You did what?” she asks.  “You hate it there.”

“I know, I know,” Dean says.  “But there was a lot of trouble with clients I had to sort out and we didn’t order enough oil for the quarter, so we ended up with more appointments for oil changes than we could handle, so I had to reschedule all the ones we couldn’t take, and I haven’t even had time to go visit Cas.”

Wherever Ellen is has always been a sort of safe haven for Dean.  She’s always been there for him, and he loses himself in reassuring her that he’s okay.  So much so that he doesn’t even realize what he’s said until she asks, “Who’s Cas?”

Dean feels the color drain from his face.  Ellen is one of the few people who knows about his sexual preference, in fact, she’s the first person he told, but this is not how he planned to tell her about Cas.  He didn’t plan to tell her at all until he knew what he and Cas  _ are _ , but it’s too late.  Ellen knows him too well to let him backpedal and cover it up.

“He’s, uh, he’s someone I met at the hospital,” Dean says.  He wants to keep his eyes trained on his feet, but he forces himself to meet Ellen’s gaze.  She deserves to hear this properly.

A few things fall in place at once for Ellen.  That day when Jo mentioned Dean begging her to tell him about some random patient, Dean’s increased visits to the hospital, and his uncharacteristically cheerful mood all seem to make more sense now.  

She’s delighted that he’s met someone, (it’s been over a year now since he’s seen anyone) but she also doesn’t miss the way his shoulders slump and bags hang under his eyes.  With a small smile, she wraps her arm around his waist, the highest point she can reach, and leads him toward the house.

“You get some sleep, honey.  When you’re ready, we can talk more about Cas.”

Dean lets her lead him up the stairs and pulls her into a hug at the landing.

“Thank you,” he whispers into her hair as he shuts his eyes to keep the tears that threaten to overflow at bay.  “For everything.”

She hugs him tighter and wishes it were enough.


	7. Boundaries

As August fades to September, the scorching heat becomes more bearable.  A sense of change creeps up on Dean, subtly at first with the green leaves withering to shades of brown and orange, then more noticeably with the way Sam seems to light up whenever the topic of Jess comes up.  Dean tells Sam that he’s happy for him, and he means it, but he also can’t deny the ache he feels when he realizes that his little brother is slipping away.

At least Meg isn’t actively plotting against him anymore.  She even smiled at him when he visited Cas the other day.  He hopes he’s turned over a new leaf with her, but he knows it depends a great deal on what happens between him and Cas next.

Things at the shop have calmed down , but he still can’t go to the hospital as much as he used to.  It’s a blessing and a curse, because Dean finds himself sitting alone in the big empty house of his childhood wishing he could hear Cas’s voice or feel his hand in his own and it  _ hurts _ .  

But then when he does get to see him, it’s like all the weight of the world is lifted off his shoulders and he can breathe again.

Maybe he’s imagining it, but he swears he sees Cas look the same way.

Dean thinks about all of these things as he pulls into the hospital parking lot.  He stayed at the shop longer than he wanted to, and by the time he left, the oppressive memories of his father running around and yelling like he had to today are weighing on him more than usual.  The only thing keeping him on his feet is the knowledge that he’ll see Cas today.  He’s in such a rush to feel better that he grabs his pass from Laura and has to stop himself from running to the elevator.

“Hello to you too!” she calls after him.

“I’m sorry!” he apologizes as he pushes the button for the fourth floor five times in a row.  

The doors slide shut, and his heart begins to beat a little faster.

The moment they open, he’s out the door and around the hall to knock on Cas’s door.

“Hey, Cas?  It’s me, Dean.  Can I come in?”

There’s a faint sound from the other side of the door.  A blanket shifting?  A whine?  A sniffle?  

“Come in.”   


Dean’s shoulders slump in relief as he turns the knob, but at first, he can’t find Cas.  He’s usually sitting up in bed reading or looking out the window.  No matter what he’s doing, he always smiles at Dean when he walks in.  

“Cas?”

The tattered comforter on the flimsy bed shifts and murmurs something too softly for Dean to hear.  Cautiously, he shuts the door behind him and approaches the bed.  He wants to sit on the edge and soothe Cas, but he’s not sure where the boundaries lie, or even if Cas would appreciate the gesture.  As a compromise, he pulls the chair up and gently tugs on the blanket to find Cas’s face.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Dean almost whispers.  

There’s that sound again.  It’s definitely a sniffle.  Cas uses the bit of fabric he has in his hand to quickly wipe the tears streaming down his face, but it’s an uphill battle, and new ones rush to replace them.

“I’m okay,” Cas insists.  He turns to Dean when he feels like his face is dry, but it’s useless.  Dean immediately notices his red, puffy eyes, his quivering lip, his complete and utter dejection.

“Oh, Cas,” Dean coos.  Without thinking, he reaches over and finds Cas’s hand through the blanket.  Through the rough, tattered yarn, Cas grips Dean’s hand like it’s the only thing tying him to the rest of the world.  In many ways, it is.  “Do you want to talk about it?”

For a long moment, neither man says anything.  It’s a full kind of silence, with the constant beeping of monitors from other rooms, the faint click-clack of the nurse typing in the hall, and the weight of unanswered questions in the air.

Cas breaks it with a shaking breath.  “It’s just…”  He trails off as his words catch in his throat, and more tears pool in his eyes.  There’s no use hiding it anymore.

His body shakes as he cries and cries and cries.  Any worries about social norms fly out the window as Dean realizes what’s happening.  He pushes the chair back and nudges Cas over so he can sit down beside him on the bed.

“Shhh, it’s going to be okay,” Dean says as he wraps his arms around Cas.  He feels a warmth spread in his chest as Cas leans into his touch.  With a bit of maneuvering, Dean is lying on the very edge of the bed with Cas curled against his chest.  The front of his shirt becomes soaked with Cas’s tears almost immediately, but he doesn’t mind.  No, he doesn’t mind at all.

When Cas runs out of tears and the energy to continue, he says, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Dean says.  He’s stroking Cas’s hair and thinking about the way it feels between his fingers.  The question doesn’t even register with him at first.

Cas shifts a little bit to look up at Dean.  Dean sighs and settles for stroking Cas’s cheek.  He’s delighted to discover that he likes it even better than stroking his hair.

“For losing it like this.”  

Dean untangles himself and sits up.

“Don’t  _ ever _ apologize for crying, or laughing, or venting, or any kind of feeling.”  Dean looks at Cas, his eyes wide and his lips forming a hard line.  

Cas tilts his head slightly, trying to figure out what brought on this response from Dean, then shrugs and settles back down.  

“Okay, I won’t.  Please come back?”

Dean softens.  Cas is nearly his height, but burrowed under the covers looking up at Dean with those big blue eyes still shining slightly and full of undisguised hope, he looks so small.  He slides back down and opens his arms.  Cas gratefully leans in as Dean pulls him closer.

“Want to tell me what happened?” Dean asks when Cas’s breathing has returned to normal.

Cas pauses for so long that Dean wonders if he’s fallen asleep.

“It’s today,” he explains slowly.  “Today’s the day I came to the hospital for the first time.”  
Dean waits patiently for Cas to elaborate as he traces circles lightly on Cas’s arm, shoulder, hand.

“I’ve been here for a whole year, and all I’ve done is take two steps.”

As much as he aches to reassure Cas that his progress is so impressive, that he’ll be walking in no time, he knows what Cas needs is someone to listen as he sorts everything out, so Dean bites his tongue.

“At this rate, I’ll spend the rest of my life here, and the worst part is, nobody ever came to look for me.  I have brothers and sisters all over the place, and not a single one has come to visit.  Not even a phone call.”

Dean pulls Cas just a little closer at that.  

“You know, for months, I thought I had nobody, but then you almost killed me in the hallway…”

“Hey!”

They both laugh at the attempt to lighten the mood, but the gravity of what Cas has just admitted isn’t lost on either of them.

“Cas…”

Cas leans forward and kisses Dean.  It’s just a light touch at first, searching, asking for permission.  Dean places his hand on Cas’s cheek, as if to steady himself.  He wasn’t expecting that, but it doesn’t take long for him to react.  He shuts his eyes, tilts his head, and deepens the kiss.  

No, he doesn’t mind at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two chapters seemed to go nicely together, so you get two for one this week! I also wanted to note that the reference made in this chapter is from the song "Love Like This" by Kodaline, which is also the namesake for this fic. Thanks for reading and I hope you liked the updates.


	8. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

For as long as Sam can remember, the Winchester Thanksgiving tradition has been to eat frozen dinner turkey and watch the football game.  When they were kids, Dean used to tell him about the days when their mom was still alive, and he would sit in the kitchen with her while she cooked.  In fact, Dean’s nearly certain it’s his first memory.  It’s really more of an image: Mary resting him on her hip as she stirred the mashed potatoes.

Ever since John’s been in the hospital, however, Sam and Dean have spent their thanksgivings drinking beer and eating grocery store pumpkin pie.  Although they were both glad to see each other, and Sam was glad to be home, neither could quite shake the uneasiness that seemed to loom over them.  It felt unnatural to sit in the family living room where ghosts of laughter and joy echoed as the Winchester children desperately tried to ignore the absence of their parents.

This year, however, Dean can’t wait for Thanksgiving.  He and Meg organized a dinner to surprise Cas.  He’s in charge of the turkey and pie; she’s bringing mashed potatoes and apple cider (patients aren’t allowed to drink alcohol, and Dean is too scared to argue).  It’s the first time he’s looked forward to Thanksgiving since he was three.  As he’s running around, getting the ingredients and trying to get everything done in the shop before it closes for the long weekend, he completely forgets about Sam.  In his defense, Sam has been so busy with class that he pushed off their weekly phone calls for the past two weeks, but then again, they’ve done the same thing every year since Sam left for Stanford, so he didn’t think he had to clarify anything with Dean.

So naturally, Dean isn’t there to pick Sam up from the airport on Thanksgiving.  He had class Wednesday, so he couldn’t fly out sooner, and he tried to call Dean to let him know, but he didn’t pick up the phone.  After three unsuccessful attempts to get a hold of Dean, Sam just calls a cab.  At first he’s a little hurt and irritated that Dean didn’t come get him or even answer his phone, but then Sam realizes that he can surprise Dean, which is almost better.

Grinning, he hopes out of the car, bag over his shoulder, and rushes up to the door.  He tries to burst in dramatically, but the door is locked.  That’s a little weird.  Where could Dean possibly be on Thanksgiving?  He tries to call Dean again, but he still doesn’t pick up.  When he hears Dean’s bored voice tell him to leave a message for the fourth time, he’s officially pissed.

Fuming, he calls Ellen.

“Sam?  Is that you?”

“Yeah, hi, Ellen.  I was wondering—”

Sam cringes as Ellen yells, “Hey, Jo!  You’ll never guess who’s on the phone!”

He rests his head in his hands.  He should’ve gone with Jess to her family’s house.  “Hey, Ellen?  Do you—”

“Sam!  It’s Sam.  Yes, Sam Winchester.  How many Sams do you know?”

“ELLEN!”

Stunned, Ellen stops talking.

“Do you know where Dean is?”

Suddenly it all makes sense.  “Oh, did he forget to tell you?”

A weight settles in Sam’s stomach.  “Did he forget to tell me what?”

 

When Dean walks into his room holding a foil pan and three pie tins with a huge grin on his face, Cas’s mood immediately improves.  He had been hoping, albeit irrationally, that his older brother would come and visit.  As the hours ticked by and his family was nowhere in sight, Cas had begun to feel pretty awful.

But then Dean walked in.

Cas returns his smile and asks, “What do you have there?”

Dean opens his mouth to respond, but Meg walks in noiselessly behind him and answers, “Thanksgiving.”  
He didn’t think it was possible, but Cas’s smile widens.  “You told me you had plans!”

“I did have plans,” Meg says.  “Plans to surprise you.”

He laughs and motions for them to sit down.  He can’t remember the last time he was this happy.  He’s not sure such a time exists.

 

Nearly an hour later, after having had to call three different taxi companies to find one that is open on Thanksgiving and hopping the fence to put his suitcase in the house, Sam arrives at the hospital.

Meg has gone to throw away the paper dishes, and Cas and Dean have realized that they are alone, likely for the only time of the evening.  

Sam storms into the lobby, past Laura who chases after him insisting that he sign in.  He finally turns around and says that he’s John’s son.  She’s so dumbfounded that she lets him get in the elevator before she realizes he didn’t actually tell her his name.   _John has another son_?

Jo mentioned the fourth floor, so he presses the button with a lot more force than was really necessary and watches the doors slide shut as he plans exactly what he’s going to scream at his brother when he finds the right room.   _He left me for his “friend” from the hospital_? _For some_ chick?

Dean sits on the edge of Cas’s bed and leans forward, imagining those soft lips against his own, those hands in his hair, that taste…

Sam walks up to the poor soul desperately trying to finish entering all the paperwork, so he can leave and make it home in time for Thanksgiving dinner.  He demands to know which room “Cas” is in.  Looking up from his computer and wondering what other torments he’ll have to endure this evening, he informs Sam that he can’t just give away information about patients, and that they don’t even have a “Cas” on file.  Sam swears and walks away, trying doors at random.  All Jo knew was that it was on the right side.

It turns out to not be that difficult to find.  There are two empty pie tins in front of the third room down the hall (Meg had planned to take two trips).  Sam doesn’t bother to knock.  He walks right in.

Everything Sam had planned to say, eloquent things, are replaced with the simple yet effective “WHAT THE HELL?”

Dean stiffens.  Cas pulls back. Sam looks at his brother with his mussed hair and hand still entangled in the hair of the man opposite him.

Unsure of what else to do, Dean turns, smiles tiredly, and says, “Hi, Sammy.”

Sam’s eyes widen.  He pauses a moment to take one last look, to make absolutely sure he’s seeing what he’s seeing, then he turns around and walks out.

“Shit,” Dean curses.  “I’ll be right back.”

“Who was that?” Cas asks.

“My little brother,” Dean sighs.  “Apparently he decided to come home for Thanksgiving.”

Dean doesn’t wait for Cas to ask anything else.  He’s out the door, calling, “Sammy” before Cas can properly process everything that just transpired.

“Sammy!  Come back!  At least let me explain…”

Sam has the advantages of a longer stride and significantly more fury to fuel him as he practically runs away from his brother.  Dean follows him as he turns down the hall and calls the elevator.  It arrives almost as soon as he steps in front of it, and Dean tries to hop in, but Sam presses the button to close the doors.  Dean sprints to the stairwell around the corner and takes the stairs two or three at a time down to the lobby.  He comes out right after Sam and follows him out the lobby, past an irritated and confused Laura into the biting wind outside.  Fortunately for him, Sam doesn’t have a ride.  Unfortunately for him, Sam has a jacket.  Dean does not.

Sam keeps walking, fairly aimlessly.

After ten minutes of jogging, frigid air burning his lungs, Dean stops and says, “Sam, please.” Sam is livid.  He wants nothing more than to either run and avoid Dean all together or punch him, but he sounds so defeated that he stops too.  He shuts his eyes and bites his lips, considering his options.

“What?” he hisses.  

“I’m so sorry,” Dean says to Sam’s back.  “My phone died, and I didn’t think you were coming so I wasn’t worried about it—”

Sam whips around.  “You think _that’s_ what I’m upset about?  The fact that you left me at the fucking airport?”

Dean looks down, crushed.  “I’m sorry,” he says so softly that Sam can barely hear him over the wind.  “I know what you must think of me, but I’m begging you to be open minded about this.  I really care about him, and I know that it’s not...conventional—”

“Oh my god,” Sam interrupts.  He runs his hand over his face and mutters, “Oh my god” a few more times.

“What?” Dean demands.  

“You think I’m pissed that you’re gay?”

Dean stares at him, brow furrowed for a long moment before asking, “Is that not what you’re upset about?”

“Dean who the hell do you think I am?  No I’m not mad you’re gay.  I’m mad you kept it from me!”

Dean feels like he’s been slapped in the face.  “You are?”

Sam feels his anger fade away as the situation is suddenly clear.  He laughs.  “Dean, you are so dense sometimes.  I love you, and I will continue to no matter who you date.  Why would you ever think I wouldn’t?”

Dean remembers the familiar sound of the Impala rumbling down the street.  He remembers a rough hand on his collar, choking him.

He offers Sam a small smile.  “I don’t know.  It was stupid.”

Sam shakes his head slightly and closes the distance between them to wrap his stupefied older brother in a hug.

 

Dean tries, but can’t lose the tension in his shoulders for the rest of the evening.  As he falls asleep in his childhood bed, he has a nightmare.

“ _You little piece of shit.  Your mother would be horrified._ ”

He wakes up, and just like he has for the past seven years, for a brief moment, he believes it.


	9. Is Your Heart Heavy with Guilt, or Just Plain Heavy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me so long to update. With classes starting, I'm going to try and update every weekend from this point forward. The title of this chapter is a reference to the episode "Defending Your Life" (7x4). Hope it was worth the wait :)

Although the Winchester house contained a unique sort of pain that comes from profound loss, it was exactly the same as every other childhood home in the sense that it didn’t quite feel the same to come back to it after Sam had been gone for nearly a year.  For the first two days, he told himself that he was just getting used to being back, that it would feel natural if he just gave it time.  

On Saturday, he walks through the halls while Dean is at the hospital, and he notices yet another difference from the place he remembers.  Some of those are just byproducts of Dean being the only person living in it: their father’s leather jacket not hanging from the hook by the door, the way the couch is farther back than it used to be (Dean likes to rest his legs on the coffee table), and most notably, the family portrait from when Sam was three months old missing from the mantle.  It’s been there practically his whole life, and was there last time he visited.  Yesterday, he found it in the bottom drawer of the old desk in John’s study.  Sam hasn’t asked Dean about it, and at this point, he probably won’t, but it is disconcerting to sit in the living room without feeling the unfamiliar yet loving gaze of his mother upon him.  He’s become accustomed to it, but more importantly, it signifies yet another change in the place that has always been timeless for him.  It’s another sign that he doesn’t belong there anymore.

Dean comes back around nine thirty with a wide grin and a slightly dazed look in his eye.

“How was it?” Sam calls from the kitchen as he scrounges in the cupboards to check and see if anything’s appeared since he last looked.  It hasn’t.

“Awesome,” Dean replies.  He didn’t actually catch what Sam said, he was too busy thinking about how Cas grabbed his hand as he said he leaving and pulled him back down for one last kiss.  He’d almost run a red light on the way home for that same reason.

Sam nods.   _ Do canned green beans expire _ ? “How’s he doing?”

Dean finds his way into the kitchen and grabs a beer from the fridge before slumping down into his usual seat at the table.  “I’m sorry what was that?” he asks when he sees Sam staring at him with a very unamused expression.

“I  _ said _ , how is Cas doing?” 

“Oh!  He’s doing great.”  Dean’s voice takes on the dreamy quality it gets when he’s thinking about Cas.  Sam rolls his eyes.  “He had physical therapy today, and he walked all the way across the room.”

“That’s fantastic,” Sam says.  He pauses for a moment to try and think of a way to ask what he’s really wondering about without angering, hurting, or in any way upsetting Dean.  He quickly realizes there is no such thing, and adds, “How’s Dad?”

Dean’s head snaps up in surprise, which fades to undisguised guilt, but Sam doesn’t notice as he places the green beans back in the cupboard and lifts up a box of crackers, shaking it lightly.   _Empty_.

“I didn’t see him,” he admits.  At first, he would visit John whenever he went to see Cas, but being in the room while he laid there lifeless with that blank expression was killing him.  It was as if he got heavier each minute he sat there, and it was worse if he went after he saw Cas.  Although he knew better, he felt like John could see the bruises Cas left on his neck, the way his lips were puffy, and how his clothes were just a little disheveled.  John’s disapproval rolled off his unconscious form in waves that hit Dean, leaving him breathless and more pained than he had been at John’s hands in years.  He couldn’t take it. 

“Why not?” Sam asks without a thought, placing the box on the counter and returning his attention to the green beans.  “You’re there anyway.”   


Dean’s eyes narrow as anger begins to bubble in his chest.  “I see him all the time.  In fact, I’m the only visitor he’s had in months.  If you’re so worried about it, why don’t  _ you _ go visit him?”   


He immediately regrets it, as he always does when he points out that Sam doesn’t see John very much, and his words ring with the familiarity of a well-worn jab.  But this time, Sam whips around.

“When are you going to stop holding that over my head?  You were the one who told me to go to Stanford in the first place!”   


The fact was, Sam had been avoiding seeing John too.  Based on the lack of correspondence from the hospital, he doubts John’s condition has changed, for better or for worse, and he hates seeing John looking so pale, fragile, and old.  It’s just one more thing that stands in sharp contrast from his childhood memories.

Dean shoots up, nearly knocking over the bottle.  He walks closer and closer to Sam as he hisses, “Yeah, I did.  And you know why?  Because I put you first.  I always have.  And most of the time, I’m happy to do it, but you don’t understand what it feels like to run around that shop like he did, with all those guys looking at me like—” he shakes his head with a humorless chuckle, “Like I’m some kid playing pretend in his dad’s clothes?” 

Sam steps backward until he hits the wall behind him, and for a split second, despite the way he has to tilt his head down to meet Dean’s eyes, he feels like he did when he was little for the first time since he got home.

Those words hang in the air for a long moment, suffocating them.  Realizing that he’s essentially cornered Sam, Dean takes a small step back.

“I just hate sitting there with him like that.”  He runs a hand over his face absentmindedly, as if that could relieve the tension and stress that have begun to settle into his bones before hastily adding,  “I still see him at least once a month, I just...can’t.”

Sam releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and notices that his shoulders have tensed as they begin to relax.  “Don’t worry about it.”  

There is an uncomfortable silence, then Dean turns around, grabs his beer, and mutters that he’ll be upstairs.  Sam doesn’t respond, but listens to Dean’s footsteps as he goes through the living room and upstairs, before stopping after his bedroom door shuts with a thump.  It’s only after he’s certain Dean’s gone that he grabs his jacket and heads out the door to go get some food.

 

Even after Sam returns an hour later, Dean stays in his room.  They don’t see each other for the rest of the night.  Around two the following morning, both boys still lay awake in adjoining rooms, staring at the ceiling with so much more than a wall separating them and John on both their minds. 


	10. Dancin' and Prancin'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last few chapters have been pretty serious, so I sat down to write this very fluffy chapter...and it didn't quite work out that way. But don't worry, the next one is definitely going to be sickeningly sweet, and hopefully this one is still a nice reprieve from all the information I've been throwing at you guys. (If you can't tell, I'm a little pumped for Christmas). Enjoy!

The Winchesters celebrated Christmas in a subdued fashion.  John kept Santa alive for a couple of years, until Dean was ten, but he kept leaving presents under the tree on Christmas Eve until he had his stroke.  They were generally very practical gifts (clothes, swiss army knives, that sort of thing) wrapped in the brown paper bags from the grocery store down the road.  It didn’t matter much to Sam or Dean, though.  The exciting part was what was inside, not what was covering it, and despite all the conflict and tension that seemed to perpetually hang over the Winchester household, like a storm cloud threatening to pour, Christmas always managed to be a joyful time.

After John’s stroke, however, things changed.

The first Christmas with just Sam and Dean was only a few months after, so it slipped by nearly unnoticed and wholly ignored.  Sam still carries around the searing hurt he felt when he woke up on his last Christmas morning before leaving for college to find the house just as it had been when he’d fallen asleep and Dean missing.

Dean, of course, knows nothing about this.  In line with the Winchester tradition, Sam kept it to himself, and still hasn’t told Dean to this day.  

Even if Sam had meant to give Dean a piece of his mind, he wouldn’t have been able to.  Dean had gone for a drive.  At first, he had intended to go to the hospital.  It hadn’t seemed right to leave John alone on Christmas morning, but as he pulled into the parking lot and that big, coldly industrial building loomed over him, he couldn’t bring himself to cross the threshold.  Christmas was sacred, and he wouldn’t let his last good memory be tainted.   


So he turned the Impala around, picked a direction, and drove.  He had just filled up the tank, so he drove until it was half empty, then he pulled off to the side of the road.  There hadn’t been any snowfall for a few days, so the banks looked grey and had become more slush than snow.  He had rested his head on the steering wheel and let himself cry for the first time since he’d found John collapsed on the floor of his study with that damned picture in his hand. 

Even though he and John hadn’t seen eye to eye on anything in half a decade, even though he still felt a burning rage in his chest every day because of the things John had done, all he wanted that Christmas was to feel his father’s arms around him, telling Dean that he was proud of him.

But then, that was what he’d always wanted.

 

Almost exactly three years later, Dean wonders if Christmas decorations have always been this aggressive.  A toy making elf nearly stabs him with a hammer when he tries to step between it and an oblivious woman wrenching a very expensive phone from a giggling toddler.  Usually, this kind of thing irritates him to no end, but today, he smiles, jumps out of the way of the potentially homicidal elf, and continues walking.  He whistles “Jingle Bell Rock” and returns his attention to the task at hand.

It’s been almost six months since he met Cas, and Dean likes to think he’s gotten to know him pretty well, but he has never been great at gift giving, and the pressure is especially high this time around.  Cas has been pretty morose lately.  He doesn’t talk about it much, but the few things he’s mentioned in passing makes Dean think the ghosts of his Christmases past are starting to haunt him.  Meg even put a little ramekin of salt beside his bed for its “purifying properties”.  Dean thinks it’s a load of shit, but he just smiles at Meg and tries not to laugh until after she’s left the room.  Shockingly, he hasn’t had the best success.

Given Cas’s family’s track record of showing up for holidays—or in general, for that matter—Dean has a feeling it’ll be up to him to make this Christmas special for Cas. 

And so, Dean braves the department store a few towns over praying to whoever’s listening that he can find the perfect gift and survive the process.  He doesn’t have high hopes.

He walks past the home decor section without so much as a glance; he breezes through the men’s clothes, stopping once to look at a particularly soft flannel before scolding himself for getting distracted.  Dean has only ever seen Cas in the hospital issued sweats, so he doubts Cas is allowed to wear his own clothes.  There’s no reason to get him something that he can’t wear indefinitely, and Dean has no idea what he even likes.  He’s left with the jewelry section.  He skims over a few displays, feeling out of his depth, when a saleswoman comes over so quietly that he doesn’t hear her approach.

“Is there something I can help you with?” she asks with the rehearsed smile and tone of someone who has been in retail for too long.

Dean jumps what feels like a foot, before exclaiming, “You startled me!”   


“I’m sorry, sir,” she says with a sigh.  “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”  Dean pauses to try and catch his breath.

“Is there anything I can show you?  We have some lovely earrings over here for your girlfriend—”

“Oh, no thank you.  I’m shopping for my uh…boyfriend.”  Dean has never had an occasion to use the word, but he likes the way it feels rolling off his tongue.   _ He’s  _ my _ boyfriend _ .

“I see,” she says, her tone not changing at all as she directs Dean to some watches and more masculine jewelry.  It doesn’t matter.  None of it feels right.

Regardless, he lets her show him a few pieces.  He tries to imagine Cas wearing them and fails.  

“Thank you for your time,” he says at last.  “But I think I’m good for now.”

“Alright.  Have a nice day, sir.”  If she’s disappointed, it doesn’t show.  She turns around and begins to help another customer.  As Dean steps away from the counter, three other patrons immediately step forward to fill his space.  

_ Gotta love the Christmas rush _ , he muses as he shoves his way through the crowd of people and out the door.  He walks back to his car, naming in his head the other stores he could try, but he still can’t think of what he would get Cas from any of them.  His best guess so far is the bookstore, but after what Meg told him, he’s been hesitant to bring Cas more books.  Plus, it wouldn’t be special because he already does that all the time.  

Which leaves him with nothing.

He hits the steering wheel in frustration, regrets it even as he does it, and apologizes profusely to the car.  At this point, he’s exhausted, both mentally and physically, and out of ideas.  Defeated, he turns the key in the ignition and fights his way out of the parking lot onto the main road, headed back to Lawrence.  Dean drives more slowly than he usually does, so he can take in the soft, white snow that has settled on the giant trees on either side of the road, the twinkling lights that hang from the houses he passes by, lending the rapidly descending night a warm, yellow tinge, and enhancing the bliss that seems to have settled over everything.  

Or maybe this is just what it feels like to be happy.

Either way, he’s so lost in thought that he nearly blows through a red light and has to slam on the brakes at the last possible second.  Fortunately, he realizes quickly enough, and he stops a good three feet before the line without skidding on the icy road.  Breathing heavily and his heart threatening to pound out of his chest, he stares out of the windshield not really seeing.  In fact, it’s only after the light turns green and he gently lifts his foot off the brake pedal that he sees the cheerful stands, decorations, and hears the faint carols of Lawrence’s Christmas in the park.  

Dean grins.  Looks like he’s got a present for Cas after all.


	11. Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree (Part One)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I haven't been very good at posting each week, I'm going to try and get two chapters out over this long weekend. This chapter is actually just part one, but hopefully it's sufficiently fluffy.

“I expect a Christmas present for this,” Meg says with feigned exasperation.  “Do you know how many people I had to beg to get this?  As the lowest rung in the ladder, I actually don’t have any favors to call in.”

Dean rolls his eyes.  “Thank you, Meg.  I will bring you something mind-blowingly cool next time I come in.”

“You better.  Now, here are the rules.  No outside food; the only thing he can have is water, and I’ll send with you a sandwich from the cafeteria.  You only have five hours.  You can pick him up after lunch, but he has to be back by six for dinner.  And by six, I do not mean six thirty, or even six fifteen.  I mean five forty five.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean replies with a small salute.  Meg hits him.

“He can’t go on any rides or anything, and he can’t walk.  He has to be in the wheelchair the entire time, because if he slips or something while you guys are out there, I will get fired.”

“He will be in his chair the entire time, scout’s honor.”

Meg looks tired, as she has for the past few months.

“Please take good care of him,” she finishes softly.  

Dean meets her eyes with a serious expression.  “I always do.”

Meg nods, but her eyes still have the distant, cloudy look they’ve taken on in recent months. Although these little signs have been piling up for a while now, they all fit together for Dean just then.  He rests a hand on Meg’s shoulder.

“Is everything alright?”

She shakes off his touch.  “I’m fine.  Just take your boyfriend and get out of here, will you?”

Dean raises his hands in defeat and turns around to go get Cas.  He doesn’t catch it, but that’s the first time Meg has ever referred to Cas by anything besides his name or “my unicorn” (or “Clarence”, but nobody has explained to Dean why this is, so he tends to push it out of his mind).  

This is the first time Meg’s acknowledged Dean’s hold on Cas at all.

“Hey,” Dean says, leaning against the side of Cas’s door frame with a huge grin on his face and a Santa hat on his head.

“Hey,” Cas responds with a befuddled look.  “Aren’t you festive.”

Dean pulls out another Santa hat and a bag.  

“You don’t know the half of it,” Dean replies.  “Why are you just sitting there?  We have places to go!  People to see!”

Now Cas is thoroughly confused.

“Dean, I have been hospitalized.  As in, I can’t leave the hospital.”  Cas gestures at his room and looks at Dean like he’s sprouted another head.

“The first part is true,” Dean concedes.  As he speaks, he stats tugging Cas up,  “The second part, not so much.  At least, not for today.”

Cas swats at Dean’s arms, his tone serious as he asks, “What do you mean?”

Dean plops the bag in Cas’s lap, and he sees that it’s full of clothes.  His clothes.

“Castiel,” Dean says, using Cas’s full name for the first time and loving the way it feels rolling off his tongue, “For Christmas, I am giving you one day, well one half day, of freedom.”

For a painfully long moment, Cas says nothing.  Dean’s words sink in, feel unreal, impossible even.  Then he sees Meg nervously peering in just barely within eyeshot.  Their eyes meet, and she offers him a reassuring smile and an almost imperceptible nod.

Cas returns Dean’s giddy look and throws his arms around him, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Thank you so much,” he murmurs into Dean’s shoulder.

Dean was expecting a lot of things, but this was not one of them.  He stiffens at first, then pulls Cas tighter.  He hasn’t felt so needed and loved since Sammy was little.  He’s rendered speechless.

Meg turns away.

 

Eventually, Dean and Cas manage to find their way out of the room and into the car.  Cas is fascinated by it, or rather, the way Dean treats it like a person.

Cas, unknowingly, points out that it’s just a car.

“Shhh, Baby, it’s okay.  He didn’t mean it.”  Dean rubs his hand lovingly over the dash and shoots Cas a dirty look before putting the Impala into reverse and pulling out of the hospital parking lot.  

And so Cas leaves the hospital grounds for the first time in over a year.  He doesn’t think he can feel any lighter, but then Dean grabs his hand with his eyes still trained on the road.

What happens for the rest of the day doesn’t really matter.  This is already the best Christmas present Cas has ever gotten in his admittedly limited experience.  

He scoots across the bench seat and snuggles against Dean, who quickly shakes off his surprise and rests his arm across Cas’s shoulders.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“I love you.”

It seems Dean can feel lighter too.

 

Dean pulls up to the park and taps Cas lightly on the shoulder.

“Mmm?”

“We’re here,” Dean says.  He grabs a spare jacket from the backseat and eases Cas into a sitting position before guiding his arm into the jacket.  Cas doesn’t notice any of it.  His eyes are trained ahead at the largest Christmas tree he has ever seen.

It is a commonly known fact in...well, Lawrence, that Lawrence has the fourth biggest Christmas tree in the state of Kansas.  They tried a few times to take first, and even managed second place a few times, but WaKeeney always managed to snake it out from under them.  Or at least that’s how they tell it in Lawrence.  Cas, originally from a town about twenty miles east, has never been to the annual Christmas in the Park, nor has he heard the legend about their tree.  Needless to say, he is in awe.

“What do you think?” Dean asks.  He picks at the corner of his jacket, nervous that his town’s little Christmas festival is unimpressive.  “If you don’t like it, we can go somewhere else—”

“No,” Cas interrupts, his eyes still on the massive tree in front of him.  “It’s perfect.”

Dean grins and pushes Cas slowly into the mess of people.  Cas’s hands are cold, he didn’t have any mittens in his personal effects, so Dean removes his own and hands them to Cas.  He tries to refuse at first, but Dean is persistent.

The park is full of brightly colored stands and displays in shades of red and green.  Dean stops to get Cas a hot chocolate, and Cas stays back to look at a scene of animatronic elves assembling and wrapping toys.  He’s never seen anything like it, and he feels like Ralphie in A Christmas Story staring into the window of Higbee’s.  When Dean returns, he laughs at Cas’s stunned expression.

“Have you never seen one of these before?” Dean asks, incredulous.

“We never really celebrated Christmas when I was a child,” Cas replies.  There is no resentment in his words; he says it as a matter of fact.

Dean’s gaze returns to the jerky movements of the elves with their plaster smiles. “Damn.  That sucks.”

Cas just shrugs.  “It’s difficult to miss something you never had.”

Dean’s at a loss for words, and an uncomfortable (at least, for Dean) silence ensues.  After a moment, Cas reaches for Dean’s hand, and Dean pushes him to the next display, this one of Santa reading a book with an earnest expression.  Mrs. Claus picks up a plate of cookies, offers them to Mr. Claus, then repeats.  Santa lifts the book up to read it more carefully, then puts it back where it was.  

Cas’s head is tilted slightly to the right, and he looks perplexed.

“Please don’t tell me you haven’t heard of Santa,” Dean says.  “I don’t think I could take it.”

“Of course I’ve heard of Santa,” Cas scoffs.  “It’s just a strange scene to capture.  There’s so little movement.”

“I guess so,” Dean admits.  “It’s sort of calming though.  It’s nice to see that even Santa has peaceful nights at home with his wife, eating cookies, and reading.”

Cas looks up at Dean.  “Do you ever have those nights where you just sit in a chair and relax with your family?”

Dean tenses slightly.  “Not since Sammy left for college, and before that, I’m not sure.  Maybe when I was little,” he pauses a moment before asking, “What about you?”

“Not in a long time.  When I was a child, my brother Gabriel and I were very close, but we haven’t spoken in five years now.  He said he was tired of ‘all the shit’ that happened and left one day.  I haven’t talked to him since.” Cas gazes pensively at the Santa.  “He was my emergency contact, but he never called, or at least, nobody told me if he did.”

“He never came to visit?” Dean asks, but it really comes out more like a demand.  

Cas shakes his head.  

“That’s fucked up,” Dean says.

“Yes,” Cas agrees.  “I suppose it is.”

 

After about an hour, Dean is freezing. He will, of course, never admit this, but he can’t feel his hands and his nose feels raw. It’s not until he notices Cas begin to shiver that he suggests they head back to the car. Cas’s head whips around.

“No, please, let’s not go back to the hospital yet. I’ll be fine, just—”

“Cas, we don’t have to go to the hospital. We could go to a restaurant, a store, wherever you want. Let’s just get you out of the cold.”

Cas’s shoulders slump in relief, and he says nothing as Dean pushes him back to the car. Dean thinks he’s still upset about the prospect of going back to the hospital, but he’s just trying to figure out where he wants to go next. When Dean winds his arm under Cas’s to support him and guide him back into the passenger seat, Cas announces that he has an idea.

“Shoot,” Dean says as he folds up the wheelchair.

“I want to see your house,” Cas states simply.


	12. Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should have been at the beginning of the first part, but the biggest Christmas tree in Kansas really is in WaKeeney, but (as far as I know) Lawrence never attempted to best them. 
> 
> Also, I don't know if you can tell, but I'm ready for Christmas and all the fluff that comes with it, so hopefully this chapter has been sufficiently light with a healthy dose of serious. Thanks for reading!

Dean freezes.  "What?"

“Your house,” Cas repeats.  “Since we’re here.”

“Oh,” Dean says.  “Well…”

“Please,” Cas pleads, looking up at Dean from the passenger seat with those huge blue eyes.

Dean remembers the hospital sandwich in the back and that their options are limited as it is. 

“Fine,” Dean says.  He tries to sound resigned, but when he sees Cas’s face light up, he can’t stop his own from doing the same.  “Just don’t get your hopes up okay?  I don’t know what you’re expecting, but my place probably won’t meet it.”

Cas nods excitedly and tugs Dean down into a kiss.  It’s brief and chaste, but it lifts Dean’s spirits even higher.  He pushes Cas all the way back into the car gently before shutting the door and walking around to the driver’s side.  

The entire ride there, Cas giddily asks Dean questions about where they’re going, why Lawrence’s Christmas tree is so big, and about everything and anything he sees on the road.  The farther they drive, the more excited Cas is.  Dean, however, feels his worries settle in the pit of his stomach, and they become harder to ignore the closer they get.  When Dean pulls into the driveway, the familiar act feels unnatural.  He tries to glance at Cas from the corner of his eyes to gauge his reaction.  Cas is probably disappointed, he reasons.  After all, what’s impressive about his two story house in the suburbs?  He puts the Impala into park and climbs out to get Cas’s wheelchair without looking at him.  Dean unfolds the chair more slowly than necessary, prolonging the inevitable forced smile and falsified compliments.  

Cas pushes the door open and sticks his head out. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks, his forehead wrinkled in concern as he gestures at the wheelchair.  “Is it stuck?”

“No, well, it was, but I fixed it,” Dean lies and positions the chair before helping Cas into it.

The house looms over them, the pale green exterior in sharp contrast with the grey clouds above.  Dean turns Cas around and tilts the chair to try and maneuver him up the green steps.  It’s rough going, but Cas barely notices.  He’s too fascinated by everything about the house.  He loves the dark shutters and pale curtains, which he doesn’t know are perpetually shut.  The lawn is overgrown as Dean hasn’t spent much time at home in the past few months, but the place has an undeniably familial feel to it that Cas adores.  Even the door catches his eye, with its maple wood so light and warm with the white flowers set in rose pink stained glass.

Dean pushes Cas inside, shuts the door behind him, and takes a deep breath before trying to ask, “So, what do you think?”

Although his attempt to be nonchalant fails miserably, Cas is too enamored by his surroundings to notice the strain in Dean’s voice or the almost desperate look in his eyes.

“It’s lovely,” Cas breathes, taking in the bright floral wallpaper of the living room with the huge white bookcases.  When Mary was alive, the shelves had been filled with picture frames, but now most of them were empty.  Cas didn’t know that, of course.  Where Dean saw missing pieces, Cas saw opportunity to build.

Dean’s shoulders slump in relief.  “Really?”

“Really,” Cas says.  His eyes dart around the room from his low vantage point, taking everything in.  

“Here, let me show you around,” Dean offers.  “This is the living room.”

Dean’s eyes fall on the brown leather chair in front of the TV, untouched since John last sat on it and dominating the room.  He doesn’t bother trying to go through it with Cas’s chair.  He won’t be able to give the chair a wide enough birth.

Cas’s eyes stray instead to the walls, where paintings of yellow roses and sail boats hang.  Over the years, Mary had stopped at countless little studios, and even garage sales, which resulted in the Winchester family home having pieces of art all over.  There is no room in the house that doesn’t have at least one painting or photograph that Mary found and hung.  Cas, knowing none of this, rolls himself up to the sailboat.  This one catches his eye specifically because of the storm clouds in the background.  He muses briefly on how the ship is fortunate to be leaving the dangers behind.

Dean gives him a moment before taking him to the kitchen.  He's always hated that painting.  He wishes he could warn the ship about the impending storm.  While the living room is muted with shades of blue and brown, the kitchen demands attention and exudes warmth with its bright yellow wallpaper.  Windows and two glass doors take up most of the back wall, letting in the limited winter light.  Dean worries that Cas will notice where the squares where the wall is a little lighter, where pictures used to hang.  Cas revels in the streams of light flooding the small room.  He can imagine young Dean sitting at the kitchen table doing his homework or trailing in dirt from the backyard.

Dean’s cheeks burn by the end of the tour of the ground floor.  He shows Cas the rickety stairs with the once white molding leading the way up, but doesn’t think he can carry him that far, so he concludes his tour and searches Cas’s face for any sign of his opinion deteriorating.  If anything, Cas looks more excited.

“Your house is beautiful, Dean,” he says dreamily.  “It suits you.”

“How so?” Dean asks as he pushes Cas back to the living room.  He helps Cas out of the chair and onto the couch before sitting down beside him, perhaps a little closer than necessary.

“It’s full of life with vibrant colors and it feels  _ lived in _ .  This isn’t a house, it’s a home.”

Confused, Dean smiles, “Are you suggesting that  _ I’ve  _ been lived in…”

“No,” Cas continues, for the most part lost in thought, “Not in the same sense.  You’ve been lived in like you’ve lived through things.  You’ve had experiences, and you have a good idea of who you are, but there are still spaces left.  The shelves are fine the way they are, but more could be added.”

Dean nods, but he isn’t quite sure where Cas is going with this.

“Like what?”

It is in Cas’s matter-of-fact reply to this that Dean sees the reason he spends four or five nights a week in the hospital, the reason he lays awake thinking about that easy smile, those clear eyes, and that slight head tilt when something doesn’t make sense.  

“Like Christmases in the park and potluck Thanksgivings,” he says.  “There’s nothing wrong with a life without them, or even a life with just one, but I don’t think someone can really have too many.”

Cas pauses.  Dean holds his breath.

“I, for one,” Cas says, “would like to have many more.”

Cas knows he had more to say on the matter, but he found the feeling of Dean’s chapped lips against his own to be quite distracting.


	13. I'll Be Home for Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for my broken promise last week, here's a second chapter! It's still Christmas related, (I'm really ready for Christmas) but it's a completely different side of the holidays. I always feel like I built up Meg for a really long time then ignored her, so I'm returning back to her for this one. It's not like what I've been doing with this fic so far, but hopefully, you guys enjoy it. Cas and Dean will be back soon, I promise!

The bus rumbles and stops with a hiss in front of Meg.  Her face still aches from being twisted into an unnatural smiles for the past few hours.  It’s Christmas Day, and she stayed after her shift to make sure Dean got Cas back okay.  When Dean explained his idea, her stomach had dropped.  She knew things wouldn’t be the same now that Cas has Dean, but deep in her mind, she’d hoped that it would be like last year.  She and Cas would spend the day that seemed to only serve to remind her how alone she was together, both pretending not to lament their lack of family.

Meg shakes her head slightly as she climbs the worn rubber coated steps.  She’d thought Dean would stick around for a week then lose interest.  Frankly, she’d thought he wouldn’t make it that long.  How wrong she was.  It’s been months, and his visits have only gotten more frequent.  Meg wants to believe that she’s glad Cas has found someone who is so thoughtful and obviously cares about him, but she also selfishly hates that Cas has someone and she doesn’t, and worse still, that Cas has someone and doesn’t need her anymore.

The bus ride home is always the worst part.  There are so many different kinds of people there.  People smiling as they look down at their phones.  People laughing into the microphone as someone on the other line tells a joke that only they will understand.  People holding hands and staring out the windows, a comfortable silence between them.  Meg folds further in on herself, using her hood as a shield against the world.

When she’d gotten out of the hospital after her overdose, Meg had made a lot of big changes in her life.  She’d moved into a new apartment, gotten rid of all the things that reminded her of those days, and cut most of the people she’d known in college out of her life.  She had nothing left, really.  Rebuilding is a romantic idea that in reality looks like a cheap twin mattress, scratchy sheets, and empty walls.

Routine is a luxury Meg hasn’t had in a little over a year.  Tonight, she gets home around 7:30, relatively early.  She rarely comes home right after a shift.  Even when she knows Dean will be there, she can’t bring herself to leave without checking on Cas.  He saved her life, and there’s nothing she can do in this life to properly make up for that.  She also hopes she can earn his forgiveness, but she knows that even if he does, it won’t matter.  She’ll have to live with this for the rest of her life.  Meg will go to bed each night with the weight of her shame suffocating her.  That’s the burden she bears, even if she doesn’t have to.

She drops her keys into the dish by the door, the ping of metal on porcelain ringing through the empty room like a gunshot.  She cringes and her breath catches.

Being alone is a dangerous thing these days.  When she’s at the hospital, she’s either working or with Cas.  It’s easiest to work because she can get lost in the rhythm of it.  Until she becomes a certified nurse, she’s a glorified janitor.  She’s technically training, but in reality she’s cleaning up various fluids, taking out the trash, and, if she’s lucky, preparing vaccines and such under the close supervision of one of the nurses.  

With Cas, it’s harder.  Even when they’re alone, she can see the longing in his eyes.  He tries not to talk too much about Dean, but now and then, she can see that he’s itching to tell her something, so she takes a deep breath and asks him what’s on his mind.  Relieved, he’ll gush about the funny thing Dean said, the sweet thing he murmured in Cas’s ear, the way his green eyes positively glow.  It’s sickening, but still a distraction.  It’s better to focus on the way her stomach turns that to remember how it felt to be lost in oblivion, how much easier it was not to think at all.  How loneliness will seep into her bones when she finally leaves.

Meg dials the number and listens to a mechanical voice tell her that she has three voice messages.

_ First new message, “Hey, Meg, it’s me—” _

_ Message deleted. _

_ Second new message, “Meg, I know you’re ignoring me, but I just want to tell you—” _

_ Message deleted. _

_ Third new message, “Meg, please just call me.  I miss you.  I want to help.  I love—” _

_ Message deleted. _

_ No new messages. _

Her eyes sting and her curse hangs in the air, the reverberating sound only serving to emphasize how empty the apartment is.  Meg doesn’t need her.  That woman made her choice.  She slams the phone down and curls into a ball on her bed.  Her whole body shakes as sobs fight their way out of her throat.  She tries to push them down, but once the first one escapes, the rest flood out.

Music seeps through the thin walls.

_ Have yourself a merry little Christmas… _


	14. Slipping into the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name of this chapter is another lyric from "Love Like This" by Kodaline. Happy New Year, everyone!

Sam shouts as Jess hits his arm.  He’s grinning, but she looks scandalized.

“I’m just saying,” he continues, risking another blow, “that they’re disgusting.”

Dean’s arms are crossed over his chest defiantly, but a satisfied smile is plastered over his face.  Grossing his little brother out is still a favorite hobby of his.

“They’re in love,” Jess protests.  “Give them a break.”

Jess and Sam have flown in for New Year’s.  Sam was nervous the entire flight about how Dean and Jess would get along.  His fears had turned out to be unjustified, but a worse and unanticipated thing has happened: they’ve ganged up on him.

“The only disgusting thing here is your hair,” Dean adds.  “Jess, when he falls asleep tonight you should just,” Dean makes a snipping motion with his fingers.

Now it’s Sam’s turn to look scandalized.  He whips around to Jess, eyes wide.

“Don’t you _dare_!”

She bursts into laughter.  “You better sleep with your eyes open.  I think I saw some scissors in the kitchen.”

Sam covers his head with his hands and playfully kicks Jess as he scoots away from her on the couch.

In an attempt to give Sam and Jess more space, Dean sat on John’s chair.  Even though John’s five miles away and comatose, Dean keeps unconsciously looking over his shoulder, expecting him to appear in the doorway.  He sits on the edge of the chair, leaning forward.  No matter how far away John is, he will never be comfortable sitting there.

Dean stares at his hands, calloused where he rests his tools when he works on cars.   Or rather, used to.  He hasn’t really had time to since he took on the role of manager.  Come to think of it, Baby needed an oil change a few weeks ago…

“Hopefully you have a ride home, then, because I have the tickets,” Sam threatens.

“Fine!” Jess raises her hands in defeat.  “I won’t cut your hair.”

Sam relaxes, making a show of moving back toward Jess hesitantly and glancing at her out of the corners of his eyes, as if she has scissors in her back pocket that she’s waiting for him to get close enough to use.  Giggling, she leans into him, and he rests his arm over her shoulders naturally.

“So how long have you guys been dating?” Dean asks conversationally.

“Two years next month,” Sam says without a thought.

Jess nods.  Even though she’s speaking to Dean, she gazes up at Sam dreamily.  “He sat next to me in bio.  The entire quarter he didn’t say a word, then right before the final, as the professor is handing out the test, he asks me if he can borrow a pencil.”

Dean is dumbfounded.  “You, Mr. Four Pencils for the SAT, didn’t bring a pencil to your final?”

Sam blushes.  

“He _did_ ,” Jess scolds, “but he couldn’t think of a better way to start talking to me, so he asked me for one.”

Dean laughs.  He really should’ve taught Sam more before he went off to college.

“That’s not even the worst part!” Jess interjects.  “He had a pencil on his desk!”

Sam turns a shade of red Dean didn’t even know was possible on a human face.

“I was nervous!” Sam defends weakly.  “You were so intimidating.”

The conversation goes on like this for a few hours.  Around 11:30, Dean announces that he’s going to go to the hospital to start the new year with Cas.  Sam makes kissing sounds, Dean calls him a hypocrite, and everything feels normal for the first time in a long time.  

 

During his time at the hospital, Dean has come to know the staff pretty well.  The doctors less so because he only sees the same two (Cas’s and John’s) on a regular basis.  The nurses, however, change shifts, so there’s not a single face that he doesn’t recognize.

He glances at his watch as he steps through the glass doors.  Visiting hours ended three and a half hours ago.  He shrugs and calls for the elevator.

As the elevator stops and the doors slide open, Jan spots him and shakes her head.

“Dean, Dean, Dean,” she admonishes.  “You know I can’t let you in.”

“Jan,” he pleads.  “It’s New Year’s Eve.  You want Cas to spend it alone?”

“What am I?” she asks, feigning hurt, “Chopped liver?”

“No! Of course not.  But you have to work.  You have to check on the other patients and keep this place running.”

A smile dances at the corner of her lips.  She’s a hopeless romantic at heart, and has been rooting for Dean and Cas practically since Day One.

“I’m going to go over there,” she says, pointing around a corner, out of eyeshot, “And if someone were to sneak by while I wasn’t looking, well, there’d be nobody to stop him.”

With a wink, she heads back to the medicine room and shuts the door behind her.

Gratefully, he gives her a small wave and heads to Cas’s room with a bounce in his step.

“Dean!” Cas says, startled.  “What are you doing here?”

“You thought I’d leave you alone on New Year’s Eve?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I thought,” Cas replies.  “That’s why I asked.”

Dean chuckles.  Cas truly is oblivious.

“Well, I’m here now, so I thought we could watch the ball drop or something.”

Cas recalls the overly enthusiastic announcer describing the crowd in Times Square as the timer races in the background as Gabriel spikes Michael’s apple cider and Naomi shrieks that she’s telling Dad.

“No, I’d rather not,” Cas says.  “Maybe we could just sit here and count down ourselves?”

Dean grins and settles beside Cas on the bed.  Cas leans into him, resting his head on Dean’s chest and basking in the warmth and the way Dean strokes his back without thinking.  

“Thank you for coming,” he murmurs into the soft material of Dean’s shirt.  “You really made my night.”

Dean kisses the top of Cas’s head.  Despite their plan to count down together, neither of them notices when the New Year comes.  For a while, it’s because they’re too busy whispering.  Later, it’s because they’ve fallen asleep.

Neither has slept this well in years.


	15. No One Makes Us Do Anything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter comes from 5x19 "Hammer of the Gods", which I felt was appropriate for a number of reasons. Thanks for reading!

Cas’s eyebrows are drawn together in concentration and his arms are held out in front of him.  Dean leans against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, the picture of nonchalance, but he bites his lip and he stares at Cas with an intensity that suggests otherwise.  The physical therapist looks up at Cas, then back to her clipboard, jotting something down.  Dean tries to read over her shoulder, but she notices immediately and adjusts to block his view.  

“You’re doing great, Cas!” Dean calls.  

Cas ignores him, but is grateful for his presence.  For the past few weeks, his doctor and physical therapist have been talking about releasing him.  On one hand, he’s ready to have freedom, to be in the outside world without restriction, but on the other, he has nowhere to go.  He sold his car when he was admitted, he let his lease expire, and he doesn’t have a lot of options.  

“You’re almost there!” Dean says.  He tries to sound enthusiastic, but it comes across just a little too shrill to sound natural.

The physical therapist shushes him.  Dean has to really resist the urge to flip her off.  

Cas is so close Dean can hardly stand it.  If he walks these last three yards without incident, he could be released by the end of this month.  No more visiting hours.  No more sneaking in real food.  No more hospital visits.

Well, at least for Cas.

The clipboard falls to the physical therapist’s side, nearly forgotten as she trains her eyes on her patient.  

He keeps his gaze on the ground, looking for stumbling blocks that aren’t there.  His steps are closer to that of a toddler than a healthy, young man, but he doesn’t wobble.

It’s been over six months since he first took those steps in this very room, and Dean can’t help but compare the two.  He was so unsure then.  He didn’t even think he could do it, but now he’s gone across the room four or five times.  He’s breathing a little heavily, but he doesn’t falter.

_ Just a few more steps _ .  Dean’s fists clench, and his toe taps rapidly.  It’s all he can do to keep himself from interfering.   _ Cas has to do this by himself _ .

When he’s just a few feet away, Cas looks up and a huge smile lights up his face.  Dean returns it, relieved as Cas reaches him and pulls him into an embrace.  Tears stream down Cas’s face as he murmurs that he did it.  Dean holds him close and agrees.  

Dean still can’t see what she writes, but the physical therapist nods at him with a small smile, before leaving them alone in the room.

He doesn’t even notice, but Dean’s eyes pool as well.  He can’t remember the last time he was this happy.

 

“I told you I wanted to bring balloons!” Meg protests.  “You were supposed to bring the cake, and I was supposed to decorate!”   


“I just had some balloons lying around,” Dean says.  He runs his hand over his face in frustration.  “I thought I was doing you a favor.”

“The whole reason I agreed to decorate is because I  _ also _ had balloons lying around!”

“Then we’ll have twice as many balloons!” Dean retorts.  “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

Meg throws her hands up in defeat.  “Whatever.  We’ll just fill a one hundred square foot room is two hundred balloons.  I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Dean opens his mouth to argue, but she storms off before he has the chance to speak.  He considers going after her, but his phone buzzes.  He’s pissed and not really in the mood to talk to anyone, but when he sees the caller ID, he picks up.

“Hey, Sammy.  Are you here?”

“The cab just dropped us off at home.  Is the spare key still in under the bush on the right?”

“Yeah.  Don’t worry about putting it back when you’re done.  Just hold on to it while you’re here.”

“Perfect, thanks,” Sam pauses to tell Jess where the key is hidden, while he grabs the bags.  “We’ll be there in a few.”

“Alright, see you then,” Dean says.  When he hangs up, he forgets to be irritated.  It’s Cas’s last night in the hospital, and even Meg won’t ruin it for him.

“Was that Sam?” Jo asks. 

“Yeah.  They just got there.”

Jo nods.  “It was nice of them to come out for this.”

It’s President’s Week, and Dean asked Sam and Jess to come out for Cas’s release party over the long weekend.  Besides Meg and Dean, Sam and Jess are Cas’s only real friends.  Well, and Jo, who started mysteriously coming around to the fourth floor in the months since Dean and Cas started dating.  Dean gave her a hard time for it at first, but Cas just welcomed the company.  They’re a motley crew to say the least, but Cas seems to positively glow as they rush around setting up the party, so nobody gives it much thought.

Dean glances down at his watch.  

“Shit, I’m supposed to pick up the cake in five minutes,” he announces, looking at Jo sheepishly.  “I don’t suppose you could help Meg…”

Jo groans, but acquiesces.  “Fine, but you owe me one.”

He smiles brightly and kisses her cheek.  “Whatever you want, just make sure Meg doesn’t set something on fire.”

The bakery isn’t far, and he gets back right as Sam and Jess pull up.  

He waves them over, and Sam rushes to grab the cake from Dean as it teeters on his hand.

“I’m so glad you guys came!” 

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Jess says, trying not to laugh as Sam opens the bright pink box to reveal a bumble-bee shaped cake.

The three of them chat lightly as they walk back to the hospital in the cool February air.  Spring is starting to peek through with the sprouts of green amidst the greys and browns.  Even the bleak hospital parking lot speaks of new beginnings as wildflowers poke through the skeletal shrubs along the walkway. 

When they reach Cas’s room, he ambushes Sam and Jess, hugging them and thanking them profusely.  Dean hadn’t told him they were coming, and he hadn’t told them that it was a surprise.  Needless to say, their expressions are entertaining.

Jo and Meg had worked quickly, and the room is nearly unrecognizable.  The unassuming off-white of the walls is splattered with bright yellows and blues from the streamers.  Balloons in every color imaginable dot the floor and hover on the ceiling.  Meg had spent her entire lunch break blowing them up, and they form a cheerful cloud in the room.

The brightest color of all, however, is the blue in Cas’s eyes.  They sparkle as he takes in the decorations, the cake, and the people who have come to celebrate with him.  It’s difficult to move through the small room, but it doesn’t take long for Cas to find Dean beside him, their fingers intertwined.

“Congratulations,” Dean whispers in Cas’s ear.  

Cas leans into him a little more.  Everything is how it’s supposed to be.

 

Visiting hours ended a half hour ago, but nobody has moved to leave.  Laura and Jan have even come by to give Cas their best wishes.  The balloons are starting to wilt, the ones that haven’t been popped, that is.  Cas couldn’t stand anymore, so he and Dean are sitting on the bed, his head on Dean’s shoulder.  Sam is telling a story about when he and Dean were kids.  Normally, Dean would protest, or even interject when Sam exaggerates, but he’s barely paying attention.

Across the room, Sam sits in a chair stolen from the lobby with Jess trying to commandeer half of it.  Meg leans against the wall opposite them.  She’s uncomfortable, to say the least, but she won’t leave.  Not yet.  Not until she knows Cas will be okay.  Jo yawns, but nods thoughtfully as Sam continues.  She’s heard this one before.

“And then, I swear to God, Dean—”

There’s a light knock on the door.  Not being shut all the way, it swings open to reveal a man with dark hair, piercing hazel eyes, and a pained expression.  The room goes dead silent.

“Hey, Castiel,” the man croaks.  “I didn’t, er, realize there was a party.”

Dean glances down at Cas, then back to the man.  “Do you know him?”

For a long moment, Cas says nothing, just stares at the man, gaping.

“Yes,” he says at last.  “He’s my brother.”

“Gabriel?” Dean demands, looking at the man with wide eyes.  Cas’s words from just a few months ago ringing in his ears.  

_ He was my emergency contact, but he never called, or at least, nobody told me if he did. _

Cas nods, at a loss for words.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” Gabriel says, glancing around the room.  “The hospital just called to let me know they were releasing you, and I wanted to come by and—”

“What?” Dean interjects.  “Come by and say you’re sorry you couldn’t bring your sorry ass to check on your brother for the past year?”

“Dean,” Cas admonishes.

“No, Cas, this asshole doesn’t deserve a chance to ‘come by’.  He was all you had, and he left you here without a word!”

“I know that,” Cas replies, calmly, before addressing the whole room.  “If you would all give my brother and me a moment of privacy, please?”

Everyone files out, whispers already bouncing.  Dean doesn’t move.

Cas sighs tiredly.  “You too, Dean.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with him.”

Dean’s eyes have been trained on Gabriel practically since he walked in, but Cas puts his hand on Dean’s cheek and and gently guides his face so their eyes meet.

“I need to do this alone,” he says softly.

Dean starts to object, but Cas shakes his head.

“When Sam came in last Thanksgiving, you had to work that out alone, and I didn’t say anything.  It was family business.  Now I have to work out some of my own.”

Dean can’t argue with that.  He plants a kiss on Cas’s cheek and whispers that he’ll just be right outside.  

And then Gabriel and Cas are alone.

“Well, he seems like a bundle of laughs.”

Cas shoots Gabriel an unamused expression, and Gabriel tries to start again.

"Cas, I—”

“Don’t.” Cas lifts a hand.  “Let me say something.”

“Of course, little brother,” Gabriel says.  “Say whatever you have to.”

“If the hospital called to tell you I’m being released,” Cas begins slowly, but gains momentum as he continues, “Then they also called you when I was admitted.”

Gabriel nods, biting his lip.  Cas’s spirits drop a little.  He’d figured that was the case, but a piece of him had hoped that there had been some mistake.  That Gabriel hadn’t known.

“Why didn’t you come?  Or even call?”  Cas’s voice rises now.

Gabriel doesn’t meet Cas’s eyes as he says, “I just couldn’t see you like that.  They told me what happened, that you couldn’t walk or even talk for a while.  I didn’t want to remember you that way.”  

“I wasn’t dying!” Cas yells.  “You wouldn’t have had to ‘remember me that way’.  You’re all I had, and you couldn’t even be bothered to come see me?  Even if I’d been dying, you would’ve let me die alone?  Without seeing your face?  Hearing your voice?”   


Gabriel doesn’t have to answer.  It’s written all over his face.

“Cas,” he says softly.  “I’m sorry, but I’m trying to make up for it.”

“Get out.”  

“What?” Gabriel says, stunned.

“Get out,” Cas repeats.  He was furious a moment ago, but now his voice is void of emotion.

“Cas—”

“I’m not going to ask you again.  Get.  Out.”

Without another word, Gabriel turns around and stalks out of the room.  He doesn’t look up as he passes the crowd of people pretending they couldn’t hear through the paper-thin walls.  He doesn’t stop until he reaches his rental car.

Dean is the first one to move.  He taps lightly on the door. 

“Come in,” Cas calls.

“Hey,” Dean says lamely.  To his surprise, Cas looks fine.  Serene, even.

Cas doesn’t respond, just pats the place beside him on the bed.

Dean obliges, settling beside him, but keeping his hands in his lap.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” Dean says after a few seconds of silence.  “Especially today.”

“There’s no need for you to apologize.  You didn’t do it.”

“That’s true, but you deserve better.  You don’t need him.”

Cas hasn’t looked at Dean since he walked in, and now he’s just staring at his fingers as they pick at the blanket absently.

Finally, he practically whispers, “No.  Not anymore.”


	16. Coming Home

Dean bolts out of the house so quickly that he has to stop and go back to shut the door all the way.  He hasn’t run like this from the porch to the car since he was in seventh grade and late for his first day of school.  His canvas jacket is thrown on haphazardly, his right arm through the sleeve, the the rest of it hanging off him like a torn cape.  He doesn’t even notice.

His hand shakes as he struggles to slip the key into the door.  He misses a few times, lightly scratching the flawless black paint.  On his sixth try, the key hits the slot, and he manages to ease it in and unlock the car.  Within seconds, he is in the driver's seat, putting the car into reverse, and pulling out of the driveway.  He will  _ not  _ be late to pick up Cas from the hospital.

Fortunately for the populations of Lawrence and neighboring towns, the hospital isn’t very far, so the sharp turns Dean takes and the red lights he runs don’t do as much damage as they could.  Due to a combination of luck and the early hour, there aren’t even any police officers milling about to give him a ticket for his blatantly reckless driving, which is atrocious, even by his standards.

He tears down the street, slamming on his brakes only when he reaches the somewhat steep driveway into the hospital parking lot.  He may be lost in the elation of taking Cas home, but he isn’t far enough gone not to worry about scraping either end of the Impala. 

There are only a handful of cars in the lot, so he gets a spot in the front row.  Whipping into it, he misses the curb by mere millimeters.  Throwing the car into park and yanking the keys out of the ignition, Dean sprints through the sliding glass doors.  His jacket billows behind him and his unstyled hair falls into his face.

“Good morning, Dean,” Laura greets him.

“Hey, Laura,” he pants.  “Is he…?”

Laura shakes her head slightly, but smiles.  “He’s up.  Meg is getting him ready for check out.”

He thanks her, accepts his visitor pass, and runs to the elevator.  It comes down from the third floor, and only takes fifteen or so seconds to reach the lobby, but in that time, Dean pushes the call button thirty times.  

The doors barely open quickly enough for him, and by the time they’re closing, he’s already pushing the button for the fourth floor.  His foot taps restlessly, and he watches the numbers above the door light up and fade as he rises.  His stomach does a somersault as the elevator slows to a stop.

_ Ding _ .

Dean doesn’t hear the sound.  He’s already around the corner, knocking lightly but persistently on Cas’s door.

“Come in,” Meg calls.

He turns the handle and leans in as he pushes the door open.

“Hey, I—”

Dean’s words catch in his throat.  Cas stands over his bed, facing Dean with a toothy grin.  His normally mussed hair has been combed neatly and is out of his eyes, making them even more piercing.  A deep green sweater hangs off his shoulders in the loose fashion of a well-worn article of clothing, giving him a soft, comfortable appearance.  One hand clasps the bed frame with a white-knuckled grip as Cas leans heavily into it to stand upright.  In the other, a long, tan trench coat dangles in his grasp.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas says, with a small, concerned head tilt.  “Is everything alright?”

“Everything is perfect, Cas,” Dean breathes. 

Cas’s eyes narrow in confusion, but Meg cuts in before he can ask Dean why he looks so stunned.

“He’s filled out all the paperwork with his doctor, and all his personal effects are in this,” she informs him, handing him a paper bag, mostly filled with books about bees.  “The only thing missing is the address he’s being released to.”  
Dean and Cas exchange a look.  

“I can write that in,” Dean says.  

The truth of those words knocks the breath out of him.  He and Cas are going home together.  To  _ their _ home.  He remembers that conversation in the hall after physical therapy.  Cas sipping on a Dixie cup of water while Dean explained how proud he was…

 

_ “You’ve made it, Cas.  You’ve done the hard part, and now you can go home.” _

_ Cas lowers the cup and eyes it thoughtfully. _

_ “Home,” he repeats.  “Now that’s an interesting concept.  Have you ever noticed that the words ‘house’ and ‘home’ mean almost  the exact same thing, but the way they are used is radically different?” _

_ Dean laughs, leaning into Cas a little more.  _

_ “I love you, Cas.” _

_ “I love you too, Dean.” _

_ There are a few serene seconds where neither says anything.  Cas takes another drink of his water, and Dean reflects on how easily those words slipped off his tongue, how natural they felt. _

_ Dean turns his head slightly to meet Cas’s eyes.  “So, which side of the bed do you want?”  _

 

Just over a month later, they’re leaving together.  A doctor sits down with Dean and explains what accommodations have to be made.  Cas can walk, but not for very far, and certainly not up stairs.  Dean nods and agrees in the appropriate places as the doctor goes through them, but he already has the plywood he needs to build a ramp on the porch and has set up a bed in the downstairs guest room for Cas.  

He still has to come to the hospital a few times a week for physical therapy, but as the doctor shakes Dean’s hand and congratulates Cas on his progress, there is an undeniable note of finality. 

Meg rushes over and helps Cas to his feet.  She looks at Dean, her eyebrows knit together, and her hand squeezing Cas’s shoulder just a little too tightly.  

“I’ll walk you out,” she tells Cas, but her eyes are locked with Dean’s.

The doors slide open to reveal the rain coming down in a steady drizzle, washing away the last of the snow.  Dean slides off his jacket, holding it over Cas.  

“What a gentleman,” Meg comments with an eyeroll. 

On any other day, that would have elicited a snarky remark, or even a splash in the puddle Dean steps around, but today, he just unfolds it a bit so that Meg is covered too.

“I’m right here,” Dean says.  He drapes the coat over Meg and Cas’s heads before running past them to unlock the passenger side. 

Meg helps Cas into it, then hands him a slip of paper. 

“Any time,” she assures him.

He unfolds it and tugs on her sleeve so he can pull her into a hug.

“Thank you,” she says into his shoulder.  “For everything.”   


Cas begins to respond, but Meg dashes back toward the hospital, hands shoved in pockets and head bowed.  As the doors slide shut behind her, she wonders if she’ll ever see Cas again.  She doubts it.

 

The drive from the hospital to the house is familiar, but as Cas asks probing questions about the area, the house, what they’ll be doing for the rest of the day, it becomes new and exciting.  Cas leans his head against the window, watching the trees whiz by, but his fingers intertwine with Dean’s on the bench seat.  

Dean pulls into the driveway exactly like he has for the past six years, but unlike the usual hive of worries and things to do, the only thing buzzing in his head is,  _ we’re home _ .

Cas stares at the house in front of him with the wide eyed wonder usually reserved for seeing grand masterpieces.  

“It’s more beautiful than I remembered,” Cas observes. 

“It’s pretty average looking,” Dean responds, but a smile has crept across his features.  

“No, it’s not,” is all Cas says.  

Dean doesn’t hear it, though.  He’s grabbing an umbrella out of the trunk and tucking the bag of books under one arm.  He opens the door for Cas and offers him his free arm, but Cas refuses.

“I want my first steps of freedom in over a year to be mine.”

Dean can’t argue with that logic.  Nevertheless, he stands close by, ready to catch Cas if he falters.

In his rush, Dean didn’t lock the front door, so Cas opens it without trouble.  For a long moment, he stands in the doorway.  The wind picks up, spraying water at his back.  The heater runs in the house, humming softly and blowing its warm breath toward Cas’s numb face.  He glances over his shoulder at Dean, who nods.  He steps inside. 

 

They get home around eight, but Dean has the day off, and the dismal weather demands a relaxing day, so they watch movies for a while on the couch, only leaving to refill their mugs.  By noon, Cas is drifting in and out of consciousness on Dean’s shoulder, whose eyelids begin to droop as well.  He gently lifts the cup from Cas’s hand and sets it on the coffee table before shaking him awake.  Drowsily, Cas stands up and lets Dean guide him to the guest room.  Dean gives him a pair of his sweats and an old tee shirt, even though it kills him to see Cas take off that sweater.  

The pitter patter of rain on the glass windowpane echoes in the silent room as Dean shuts his eyes at last, his arm thrown across Cas and his mind without dreams.


	17. I Just Want to Be Loved By You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a couple references to "No One Like You" by the Scorpions in this chapter, including the title. It's a bit longer than usual, and I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> I've also gone back to my tumblr, (I was on hiatus for most of this year) so if you're looking for a destiel trash blog, then check it out at franticallyyodeling.tumblr.com and feel free to message me about fics, fan art, whatever.

Cas rolls over, reaching over to Dean’s side of the bed, half-awake and with no intentions of opening his eyes anytime soon.  When his hand hits the cool sheets, he cracks one and finds that he’s alone in the room.  With a groan, he sits up, cards his hand through his hair and rubs his eyes.  Hesitant to leave the warmth of the blanket, he sits there for a long minute, blinking slowly and letting the fog in his mind clear.

At first, all he can hear is the gentle pitter-patter of the rain outside.  It has been raining since he left the hospital, and at this point, has become white noise, more noticeable by its absence than by its presence.  This morning, however, Cas thinks he hears a faint humming.  He can’t swear to it, but if he strains his ear enough, he can almost make out “No One Like” you, though the artist eludes him.  Curious now, Cas throws his legs over the side of the bed, grabs his crutches and follows the sound out the door and around the hall.

In the week since he’s arrived, Cas has learned the layout of the first floor pretty well.  As he passes through the living room, he now knows to be careful when he turns the corner, or he’ll hit the bookshelf, which will hurt him more than the furniture.  He also knows it well enough to realize when he reaches the living room that the sound is emanating from the kitchen.

“... _There are really no words strong enough_ …”

Cas smiles and pauses in the kitchen threshold to listen.

“... _To describe all my longing for love.  I don’t want my feelings restrained.  Oh, babe, I just need you like never before_ —Cas what the hell!”

“You have a lovely singing voice.”

Dean blushes.  “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“I’m glad I did,” Cas replies.  As he stands there, the smell of bacon and eggs hits him.  “Did you make breakfast?”

Dean grins.  “As a matter of fact, I did.  It’s almost ready, so just grab a seat and I’ll bring you some.  Scrambled, right?”

“Yeah,” Cas says.  “Thank you.”

Dean switches to whistling, now self-conscious, pausing only to sip his coffee.

“Sleep okay?” Dean asks as he slides a plate over to Cas and settles down across from him.  “I hope I didn’t wake you when I got up.”

“I slept well, and no I didn’t wake when you left.”

“That’s good,” Dean says between bites of egg.  

Cas munches on his own, reveling in the cozy feeling of eating breakfast with Dean on a rainy Sunday. 

“How’re your legs?” Dean asks, nodding toward the crutches leaned against the wall.

Cas swallows.  “They’re fine.  It’s my head that suffered the trauma.”

Dean rolls his eyes.  “You know what I mean.”

“I’m all right,” Cas assures Dean.  “They’re just for balance.  Once I get used to the house, I probably won’t even need them around here.”

“And how are you holding up?”

“I just told you, Dean,” Cas says with a quizzical look.  

“No,” Dean says, meeting Cas’s eyes earnestly.  “I mean how are _you_ doing, with the move, the physical therapy, all of it.” 

“Oh,” Cas says.  He returns his gaze to his food, moving the bits of egg around, but not bothering to scoop any of it onto his fork.  “That.”

“Don’t get me wrong Cas, I don’t like talking about feelings and shit, but you’ve gone through the wringer, and if you need someone to talk to, I’m here for you.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas replies.  “I’ll remember that.”

Dean nods, then  walks to the stove to dump the remnants of breakfast from the frying plate onto his plate.  

 

Cas adjusts himself for the fourteenth time on the couch.  His tie feels constricting around his neck.  After all, he hasn’t worn one in almost two years.  

“Relax,” Dean calls from the bathroom around the corner.  “And you don’t have to wear that thing.  It’s not a gala.”

“I’m meeting your family, Dean,” Cas yells, fixing his immaculate collar.  “I want to make a good impression!”

“You already know a third of the guests!”

“That means I don’t know two thirds!”

Dean sighs but lets it go.  He runs his hand through his hair one last time, and the doorbell rings, as if on cue.

“I’ve got it!” Dean shouts, jogging down the hall and past Cas, who’s reaching for his crutches.  “Don’t move!”

Cas grumbles, but settles back down into the cushion and straightens his perfectly even tie.

“Hey, guys!” Dean says as he opens the door and steps back.  

“I didn’t know they let riff raff live in this neighborhood,” Bobby says as he gives Dean a hug.  “I guess they just let anybody in nowadays.”

“Oh be nice to the boy,” Ellen chides.  “He was sweet enough to invite us over and you’re already giving him a hard time.”

“I don’t know, Mom,” Jo says with a wink.  “Seems like Bobby might have a point…”

Instead of arguing, Dean steps around Bobby and pulls Jo into a bear hug, then musses her hair and returns her wink.

“And what about me?” Ellen demands, crossing her arms over her chest in feigned offense.

“I could never forget about you, Aunt Ellen.”  Dean hugs her too.  “Long time no see.”

“Too long,” she agrees.

When they pull apart, Dean clears his throat.

“Ellen, Bobby, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Cas.”

Cas pulled himself up onto his crutches while the guests flooded in and now stands with a small nervous smile at the edge of the living room.

“Hello,” he says.

Without a word, Ellen rushes over and embraces him.  “It’s so good to meet you, honey.  Let me tell you, I haven’t seen Dean this happy in years, and you’re to thank.”

Cas’s cheeks redden.  

Bobby pats him on the shoulder and says, “Nice to meet you, son.   We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“And of course,” Dean says.  “You remember Jo.”

“Nice to see you again,” Jo says, stepping around Ellen and Bobby to give Cas a hug.

“Alright, everyone grab a seat, and I’ll go grab the food.”

“What’d you make?” Jo asks, peering down the hall to try and get a glimpse of what’s in the kitchen.

Ellen laughs.  “He only knows how to make one thing, hon.”

“Of course, cheeseburgers.  I should’ve known.”

“Cas oversaw the making of potato wedges and asparagus too,” Dean says, shooting a proud look at Cas.

“You like to cook, Cas?” Ellen asks.

Cas nods and begins to explain how his older brothers and sisters taught him when he was a child.  Confident Cas is in good hands, Dean excuses himself.  It’s going even better than he could’ve imagined.

 

“Oh yeah,” Ellen says, her cheeks are little flushed from drink and the orange light of the sunset through the clouds casts shadows on her face.  “Dean used to walk to the Roadhouse every day after school.  His daddy was so busy at that autoshop of his that he never managed to pick Dean up in time for school, if he even remembered.”

Cas felt Dean tense beside him.  Dean has his arm thrown over Cas’s shoulder, pulling him closer almost subconsciously.

“So I finally told John that Dean was gonna walk over to the Roadhouse after school with Jo, and they would do their homework together until he got out of work.  Sometimes he wouldn’t come get Dean until eight or nine at night.”

“That’s terrible,” Cas says.  He looks over at Dean, brows furrowed in concern.  Dean sips his whiskey and stares straight ahead.

“John always was a piece of work,” Bobby agrees.  “He just wasn’t the same after Mary passed.”

Ellen nods.  “It was tragic, but it was an accident, and he had kids to worry about.”

“Has,” Dean corrects, gaze trained on the drink in his hand.  “Has kids to worry about.”

There’s a long silence, everyone’s eyes trained on the floor.

“I’m sorry, honey,” Ellen says.  “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“It’s fine,” Dean says.  “Forget about it.”

Ellen reaches over and pats Dean’s knee.  “If you ever need to talk about it, I’m here.”

Dean forces a smile.  “Thanks, Aunt Ellen.”

“You always were very protective of him,” Bobby adds.  “That man could do no harm in your eyes.  Sammy was always complaining, but not you.  You’d sing his praises ‘til the cows came home, and you’d jump down the throat of anyone who dared say any different.”

“That’s true,” Jo says.  “I remember once in middle school, I said your dad’s car was too loud and you wouldn’t talk to me for days!”

“It is too loud,” Ellen jokes.  “But it’s nice because I know I’ll never be surprised by a Winchester visit.  I’ll hear ‘em coming long before I see ‘em.”

“Yeah and you were so excited when he let you drive it in high school.  You pulled up one day in his old leather jacket, which hung to his knees, mind you,” Jo adds for Cas’s benefit, “And sauntered to class like you owned the place.”

Then Jo’s forehead crinkles and her eyes narrow as she thinks.  “Then you stopped driving it altogether at the end of junior year.  I never did find out why.”

All eyes look to Dean expectantly.

“We had to fix it,” Dean mutters.  “I couldn’t drive it while it was being repaired.”

“No,” Jo says.  “That wasn’t it, because I remember John started picking you up from school after that.  He made you work in the shop, and Mom was pissed about it because she’d offered you a real job at the Roadhouse, and you had been planning to take it.”

“I need a drink,” Dean announces.  He untangles himself from Cas, squeezing his shoulder in an attempt to reassure.  “Anyone else want anything.”

“I could use another glass,” Bobby says

“Me too,” Ellen chimes in.

“Here,” Cas says, using the arm of the couch as a support as he pulls himself up.  “Let me help you with those.”

Before Dean can protest, Cas pushes past him toward the kitchen.  Dean follows, shooting one last smile at his guests before reminding himself to breathe.

“What was that about?” Cas asks, tilting his head ever so slightly and biting his lip.

“Nothing,” Dean brushes off, refilling the glasses in his hand and diligently avoiding Cas’s eyes.  “Just talking shit about my dad.  Nothing new.”

“Why would he make you take a job at his auto shop when you already had one with Ellen?”

“He was just being a dick,” Dean dismisses.  “He’s good at that.”

Cas steps closer, resting his hand on Dean’s cheek.  Dean leans into his touch and shuts his eyes, willing his racing heart to slow and his worries to evaporate.

“You don’t have to tell me, but if you need someone to talk to, I’m here for you.”

Dean smiles as his words from the previous morning echo in Cas’s voice.

“I’ll remember that.”

 

Cas sits on the couch, feeling useless as Dean darts around the room collecting plates and glasses.

“I don’t know why I invite them over,” Dean grumbles.  “They always trash the place.”

“Because they’re your family,” Cas adds.

“Yes Cas,” Dean says with a chuckle.  “You’re right.  I can’t believe I forgot.”

Cas opens his mouth to ask how Dean could forget, but Dean waves him off.

“I was kidding.”

“Oh.”

Dean walks to the kitchen and returns empty handed, the dishes now in the sink to be dealt with in the morning.  

“I never told them,” Dean says.

“Never told them what?”

“What my dad did that afternoon.”  He shakes his head slightly with a small disbelieving sigh.  “After all he did I still didn’t want them to think less of him.”

Cas sits up straighter, realizing what’s happening.

“What did he do?”

“He’d needed the car that day.  I don’t remember why.  I think he was going to change the oil or something.  Jo gave me a ride to school, but she had some meeting after class.  She was always doing extracurriculars and shit.”

Cas nods to let Dean know that he’s listening, but it doesn’t matter.  Dean’s already lost in the memory, so long suppressed that in letting his mind dwell on it, it consumes him, sending him back to 1996 on the grass behind the football field.

 

_“When are you going to tell him?”_

_“My dad?” Dean scoffs.  “Never.”_

_“You have to tell him.  It’s not the fifties anymore.  I mean, I know he’s_ —”

_“A dick?” Dean suggests._

_“I was going to say conservative, but I really think if you tell him that’s who you are that he’ll come around.”_

_“You don’t know him like I do.”  Dean hugs his knees and eyes the jacket draped over his backpack.  “Shit would hit the fan.”_

_“At first yeah, but you’re his son.  Besides, Sam would be there to support you.”_

_“No!” Dean exclaims, then forces himself to lower his voice.  “If I told Dad, I’d make sure Sam was out of the house.  There’s no reason to drag him into this.”_

_A silence settles between the two of them.  One unsure what to say, the other willing the voices of hope in his head to quiet; he’s heard enough lies this year._

_“I’m sorry you have to go through this.”_

_“Yeah,” Dean agrees.  “Me too.”_

_Without warning, a hand cups Dean’s cheek and turns him to meet the lips already waiting there.  Dean is caught off guard, and he knows he shouldn’t in public like this, but he aches for comfort and he can’t help but lean into it._

_It’s just the rush he needs to silence the voices, to forget about it all, and he’s swept away in the feeling of safety it offers.  So lost is he, that he doesn’t hear the low rumble until it’s cut off by the squealing of tires against the pavement._

_“DEAN WINCHESTER!”_ _  
_

_Dean jerks back.  He wills it to be Bobby, Sam, anyone else, but he knows who’s sitting there before he can even look up._

_He tries to stand, but he’s not fast enough.  John grabs him by the collar of his shirt, dragging him toward the car before he can grab his bag._

“ _You little piece of shit,” John hisses as he speeds down the street.  “Your mother would be horrified.”_

_Dean looks over his shoulder just in time to catch a glimpse of a stunned boy standing on the grass clutching a worn leather jacket._


	18. I Wish I Couldn't Feel a Damn Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm sure most of you know, the title of this chapter is a reference to "Heaven and Hell" (4.10). I promise I tried to resist, but I'm weak. 
> 
> This chapter is a direct continuation of the previous one. Hope you enjoy it!

Dean’s words hang heavy in the air, dark clouds kept at bay for far too long finally freed and rolling out in waves.  Cas stares at Dean with wide eyes, unsure what to say or do.  Dean keeps his gaze on his hands.  He wonders if he should feel lighter.  He just feels wrong, like all his limbs have fallen asleep but he can’t quite be sure when.

“Dean?” Cas asks at last. 

Dean looks up, forehead wrinkled and lip quivering as he struggles to maintain his composure.  Cas doesn’t wait for Dean to reply.  He reaches across the thinning, faded fabric of the couch cushion to rest his hand on Dean’s.  He wants to pull him in close, but he’s not yet sure what Dean needs, so for now, he waits.

Dean sniffs as he rubs the back of his hand over his eyes, which only smears the tears forming there across his cheeks.

“I’ve never told anyone that before,” he repeats.

Cas nods, but Dean doesn’t see.  His eyes are squeezed shut, and his hand is clenched into a fist beneath Cas’s.

“You know, I never called him to explain what happened?  I saw him in class the next day, but I didn’t say a word.  Not a single goddamned word.  What kind of asshole does that?”

“You were in pain,” Cas consoles.  “You can’t blame yourself.”   


“Then who can I blame?” Dean snaps.  “Everyone keeps reminding me that Dad’s as good as gone.  I should’ve told that bastard to shove it when I had the chance, but whenever I talked myself into it, he would just look at me.  That’s all it fucking took, one long stare and I’d back down.  He’d nod and mutter something about knowing my place, and I just let it go.” 

Dean snorts but softens as he continues.  “I’m sorry, Cas.  You didn’t do anything wrong.”   


“It’s okay, Dean,” Cas assures him.  “I understand.”   


“The funny thing is, after that whole shit show, I gave everything I had to the auto-shop.  It doesn’t make sense.  When Dad started dragging Sammy along after school too, he’d screw everything up and take so long to finish even the easiest things that Dad made him sit in the office until we all went home.  Makes sense, he didn’t want to be there, so he made sure he didn’t have to do anything.  And it’s not like I wanted to be there.  Jo was my best friend, and I hardly saw her after that, but I still worked so hard at that stupid shop…”

The rain picks up, pelting the glass like pebbles and derailing Dean’s train of thought.  Cas seizes the opportunity to move beside Dean and move his hand to Dean’s shoulder.

“Listen to me,” he commands, recapturing Dean’s attention from the window.  “None of that was your fault.  You don’t owe your father anything.  Not an apology, not an explanation, not even your time.”

Dean meets Cas’s eyes.  He listens intently, but it’s like they’re underwater, and he can barely make out most of the words.

“Dean?” Cas asks.  “Are you alright?”   


Dean just shakes his head. 

Gingerly, Cas stands up, pulling Dean up with him.  Simultaneously leaning on Dean for support and leading him, Cas tugs Dean to the downstairs bedroom.  In his daze, Dean hardly notices.  Just before he turns the corner, however, he catches a glimpse of the mantle and the lighter square of paint above it where a family portrait used to hang.

 

Monday morning, Cas laughs into Dean’s phone, the sound echoing through the halls and amplifying the silence that seems to dwell in the corners with the dust bunnies and shadows.  

“What time’s your break today?” Cas asks when he finally catches his breath.  He pauses, waiting for a response, before adding, “If you’d like, we could meet for lunch...”

Even from the living room Dean can hear the enthusiastic “yes” on the other line.  After a few more fits of laughter and hushed plans to meet at the hospital, Cas comes back from the kitchen with a wide grin and Dean’s phone clasped in his hand.

“Thank you,” he says as he collapses beside Dean on the couch and hands him his phone.  

“So I hear you’ve got a lunch date,” Dean says, sipping his cold coffee.

“It’s not a  _ date _ ,” Cas corrects.  “I’m not dating Meg, I’m just going—oh, you were joking.”

Dean tries, and fails, to hide the smile that's playing at the corners of his lips.

“Yeah, Cas, I was kidding, but if you need a ride, I can pick you up at lunch and take you.”

Cas nods gratefully.  “Her break’s at one, but I can let her know if you have to leave earlier or later or—”

Dean cuts Cas off with a kiss.  At first, Cas stiffens, surprised and unprepared, but he quickly softens, throwing his arms around Dean’s neck and pulling him closer.  Dean pulls away first, smirking as he adjusts his shirt and grabs his mug off the coffee table.

“I’ll see you at lunch,” he calls from the kitchen.  Without another word, he heads out the side door, leaving Cas with the roar of the Impala and the faint taste of stale coffee.

“Love you too,” Cas murmurs as he picks up a discarded magazine to try and distract himself from the swarm of butterflies in his stomach.

 

Dean pulls up just after twelve thirty and leaves the car running as he sprints up the wet driveway.

“Cas, you ready?” he asks as he searches the fridge for something to take for lunch.  He’s had enough hospital food in the last year to last him a lifetime.

“Yeah,” Cas calls from the bedroom.  “Have you seen my coat?”

“Closet,” Dean yells back.

There’s a shuffle, then a triumphant “found it!” from the hall.  Dean shakes his head slightly and settles on a can of Coke and a bag of chips he found on the counter.  Lunch of champions. 

Cas appears in the kitchen doorway, tugging one arm through his coat sleeve and using the one already through to try and flatten his hair.  Dean cocks an eyebrow, and Cas counters with a puzzled look.

“Nothing,” Dean replies with a grin.  “Let’s go.”

The whole drive Cas tells Dean how excited he is to see Meg, they’ve only shared passing remarks in the hall since Cas was released from the hospital.  He plans to tell her about the house, how he thinks he won’t need the crutches in it pretty soon, and how the walls of the bedroom remind him of the morning sky right after sunrise.

Dean asks appropriate questions and makes the right sounds at the right times, but his mind is occupied with the question that’s plagued him every time he drove this road in the past year: should he go see John while he’s there?

Even now, he can hear Sam in his head telling him that stopping by and sitting with John for a minute is easy, quick, and the least he can do.  For months and months, it was his little brother’s voice against his own wondering what he’ll say to the man he can barely recognize.  Now, a new one joins in. 

_ “You didn’t do anything wrong,” _ it urges.   _ “You don't owe your father anything.” _

Dean imagines John lying on that flimsy hospital bed, listless and looking so much older and smaller than Dean remembers.

_ No,  _ he decides.  _  I’m here for Cas and that’s it _ .

His grip on the steering wheel loosens every so slightly, and he gives his full attention to Cas with a quiet sigh of relief.


	19. One Day Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, but only the first part, and officially ends the fluffy reprieve. The chapter title comes from "One Day" by Kodaline to keep with the pattern of In a Perfect World lines. Hope it was worth the wait!

The rain lightens for the first time in weeks, allowing sunlight to pour into the living room and warming Cas’s cheek as he waits for Dean to pick him up.  The TV is on, but Cas doesn’t know how to change the channels, so he stares mystified as another exercise program is unveiled and an unnaturally muscular man enthusiastically explains how his program is different.  Cas listens intently, but fails to see how it differs from the the one featured just moments ago. 

As the camera pans to a class full of extremely fit people drenched in sweat, the familiar rumble of the Impala cuts through the quiet afternoon air and then dies and is replaced by the solid  _ thump _ of Dean shutting the door.

“Cas!” Dean calls, peering into the living room from the foyer.  “You ready?”

“Yes, would you please grab my coat?”

Dean obliges, but as he walks to the coat closet he asks, “You’re going to wear your trench coat to physical therapy?”

“It may rain,” Cas replies simply as he pulls himself up from the couch.  He leans on the back of it out of habit, but finds he’s hardly wavering.

“Whatever you say,” Dean responds with a shrug.  He holds the coat out, and Cas slides his arms into it, shooting Dean a grateful smile.

Dean offers Cas his arm to lean on, but Cas declines.  Dean looks surprised, but doesn’t ask.  

 

They pull up to the hospital fifteen minutes early for Cas’s physical therapy session.  Cas comments how fortunate it is, since he can visit Meg now.  Dean just nods.  He had to slip out of the shop even earlier than usual, the weight of four sets of disapproving eyes on his back as he tiptoed to the car.

“Let’s go find her,” Dean suggests.  “We don’t have a ton of time, but she’s usually on her coffee break right around now, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Cas agrees.  

Hands intertwined, they cross the parking lot and enter the familiar glass doors.  It’s feels odd for Dean to walk into the lobby with someone else after coming alone for three years, but it’s also comforting not to have to face this place by himself.

Laura smiles brightly at them as they approach.

“Long time, no see, strangers,” she says as she passes Dean the visitor clipboard.  He hesitates briefly at the box that asks if he is visiting any patients before marking “no”. 

“Good to see you, Laura,” Dean replies, handing her back the clipboard and accepting the visitor pass.  “How’s life treating you?”

“Same old, same old.  Ever since you left, Cas, nothing exciting ever happens here.”   


Cas blushes, unsure how to respond, and Dean laughs. 

“Hey Laura do you know if Meg’s on break?” Dean asks when he catches his breath. 

“She should be,” Laura confirms, scrolling on her computer.  “It looks like she’s off for ten more minutes.  She should be in the breakroom on the fourth floor.”   


“Thanks, Laura,” Dean says.  “It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you too.  Good luck with physical therapy, Cas!”   


Cas thanks her, and the two of them walk toward the elevator, another familiar act made strange by Cas’s presence.  

Cas pushes the button and leans into Dean just slightly, as if without a thought, but the tender gesture is not lost on Dean.  He’s so wrapped  up in the way Cas’s head is resting on his shoulder that he doesn’t even notice when the elevator dings and the doors slide open for the third floor.  He steps out and takes a few steps toward the right, where Cas’s room used to be, before realizing his mistake.  Cas, right beside him, stops as well, head swiveling as he looks for some indication of the floor they’re on.

Then he sees it.

A tired looking man wearing blue scrubs like the color of the sky just before the sun starts to rise a gurney out of a room around the left corner.  He backs out, looking over his shoulder, and keeping the door open while he maneuvers through the narrow passageway.  At first, Dean just catches a glimpse of this as he’s surveying the room, but through the open door, he sees a green porcelain vase filled with dead flowers, crumbling onto the sill of the tiny window.

He remembers those flowers.  He put them there.

“No, no, no, no…”

Dean turns and rushes over just as the man wheels a sheet-covered figure into the elevator and the doors begin to slide shut.

“Wait!  I’m—”

The flash of a surprised face, then the impersonal steel of a shut door.

And in that moment, for the first time in months, Dean feels alone.


	20. And Then It's Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title comes from "One Day" by Kodaline.

“Are you ready?”

Cas leans against the doorway of the upstairs bedroom, his legs aching a bit from the climb.  It smells musty in there, and it hasn’t been used in almost two months, but that’s where Dean keeps his only suit. 

“Almost.”

Dean sits on the bed, his shirt unbuttoned and hanging off his hunched shoulders, making him seem so small.

“Here,” Cas says, moving to sit beside Dean on the bed.  “Let me help you with those.”

Lightly, as if asking for permission, Cas runs his fingers along the edges of Dean’s shirt, searching for the top button.  Dean doesn’t even look up.

“Where’s your tie?” Cas asks once he’s finished buttoning Dean’s shirt.  

Dean stares blankly into space, his hands clasped in his lap tightly.

“It’s okay.  I’ll go look for it.”

Cas scrounges around the room, shooting worried glances at Dean, before finding a dusty black tie in the top drawer of the dresser.

Gingerly, Cas unfolds Dean’s collar and slides the tie around his neck.  He wants nothing more than to hold Dean’s face in his hands, rub his thumb gently over his cheeks, and find a way to make him feel better.  Instead, he folds the collar back over and tightens the tie.

“There,” he says softly.  “Let’s just get your jacket on, then we have to go.”

“Is Sammy here?” Dean asks, eyes still trained ahead.

“No, he’s driving with Ellen and Bobby.  They’re going to meet us there.”

“Can you drive?”

Cas thinks back to the last time he drove, the streetlight flickering, the shadows against the wall springing to life as he crouched over an unconscious woman, the flash of the bat, then the darkness.

“Yes, of course, Dean.”

Dean nods, and once again, silence falls over the room.

 

Cas feels himself leaning to the right as he climbs down the porch steps toward the driveway.  The Impala glistens in the warm sunlight, and Dean ghosts past him to the passenger seat.  As he opens the creaky door and settles onto the cracked leather, Cas forces himself to exhale the breath he’s been holding.

_ You can do this, Castiel.  You’ve been driving for years.  It’s like riding a bicycle. _

He opens the door and jerkily sits behind the massive manual steering wheel, looking dubiously at it.

“The key goes in that slot, Cas,” Dean says in a monotone, as if even its humor has lost its vivacity. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas replies sincerely.  “But I knew that.”

With a shaking hand, Cas starts the car and puts it into reverse.  

_ This is going to be a long drive _ .

 

Sam is waiting outside when the Impala turns into the parking lot, scraping the bottom on the little hill.  He cringes and thinks at first that Dean must really be in bad shape, then he sees Cas behind the wheel and thinks that Dean must be beyond far gone.

Cas parks so crookedly that he takes up two and a half spots, but he comes out looking victorious and frightened.  Dean follows suit, falling into step behind Cas, until he sees Sam.

Sam rushes forward and envelopes Dean in a hug.

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” he says. 

Dean just pulls Sam closer and lets his first tear of the day fall onto his little brother’s shoulder.  

“We have to go,” Cas says, seeing the minister walking toward them grasping a Bible and six roses.

Sam pulls back, squeezing Dean’s shoulders once before letting go.  “We’re gonna get through this.  We always do.”

Sam turns and follows the minister, and Cas falls into step beside Dean, offering his hand.  With a small tired smile, Dean accepts it.  Hands clasped so tightly, their knuckles are white, they trail Sam and the minister to the green expanse of the cemetery.

Jo, Ellen, and Bobby are already waiting, speaking in soft tones until they see the three of them walk up. 

“Oh, sweetie,” Ellen says when she sees Dean’s puffy eyes.  She meets him halfway and pulls him into a hug.  “I’m so sorry, hon.”

Bobby and Jo are right behind, and they shuffle Sam and Dean between them, giving hugs and condolences.

“Now that everyone’s here, let’s begin the service with a quote from the book of Corinthians.” She clears her throats and reads.  Cas mouths the quote, Sam stares intently at the ground, and Dean’s eyes lose their focus as the words wash over him.  

“We are here today to pay tribute to a great friend, husband, and father, John Winchester.  He loved his wife Mary, and never failed to make her smile.  He was a nurturing and caring father to his two sons, and he was generally a good man whose loyalty never wavered and could always be counted on to help a friend in need…”

When she’s finished speaking, she offers first to let Sam and Dean speak.  Dean shakes his head.

“Are you sure, son?” Bobby asks. 

“Yeah, Bobby.  I’m sure.”   


Bobby nods, but he and Ellen exchange a concerned look.

“I’d like to speak,” Sam says to the minister. 

He begins with a story about when John taught him how to ride a bike.  He paints a lovely image of a nervous little boy and a comforting father gently guiding him down the street before letting go when he knew Sam could handle it.

Jo wipes her eye when Sam finishes, but Dean has to bite his lip.  He remembers that afternoon.  John told Sam that he was too old not to know how to ride a bike, so he took him out front, sat him on Dean’s old one, without training wheels, and pushed him down the sidewalk.  Sam came back in with a bloody knee, and John and Mary had one of their loudest fights that night.  It was the last fight of theirs that Dean can recall.

Bobby speaks next, telling of the amazing adventures the two of them had hunting and drinking.  Bobby’s eyes glaze over as he describes it, as if he’s there at the cemetery, but his mind is thirty years back in North Dakota.

“John was a difficult man at times, but a great man,” Bobby concludes.  “He’ll be missed dearly.”   


Bobby covers his eyes with his sleeve, and Ellen pats his shoulder. 

“That was beautiful,” she whispers, wiping her own eyes.

Ellen speaks next, telling of their youthful antics drinking too much and getting into trouble.  Her voice catches when she recounts how John helped her start the Roadhouse.

“He came over every Saturday for two months and helped me fix it up.  He was a kind man, that John Winchester.”  

Cas and Jo decline when the minister asks if they’d like to say a few words, and Bobby looks at Dean one more time.

“A son only has one opportunity to speak at his father’s funeral.  Are you sure you want to give that up?”

“I’m sure, Bobby,” Dean says.  His face is wet with tears, and his cheeks burn.

The minister clears her throat.  “If nobody else would like to say their piece, then we will begin the next part of the ceremony.”

She hands each person a rose, and one by one, they come up and place it gently on the chestnut coffin.  

Dean hears Sam say, “I’ll miss you, Dad” when he comes up, running his finger over the smooth surface.  Bobby and Ellen murmur something to that effect as well.  Jo and Cas silently place their roses on top of the others.  Sam meets Dean’s eyes as he holds the rose over the coffin.  Dean looks down at it, at the pile of flowers left there by the few people who could stand to be around John Winchester.  He lets it fall, the breeze carrying it across to the grass on the other side.  

 

When they arrive back at the house, they drink like sailors about to ship off and reminisce about John, occasionally earning a “really?” from Sam.  Dean, however, is quiet, never saying anything except to ask for more whiskey.

When they announce they are ready to go, Sam offers to drive them home, having drunk significantly less.  Ellen pulls Dean into an embrace, telling him that she is always just a phone call away if he needs anything.  Bobby gives him a quick, one-armed hug before pulling back and meeting his gaze.

“I know how much he meant to you, Dean.  If you need anything, anything at all, I’ll be there.  You hear?”

Dean nods and thanks Bobby softly.

Jo doesn’t say a word, not even goodbye.  She throws her arm around Dean and buries her face in his shoulder.  He pulls her close and lets a few more tears go before Ellen calls for her, and she pulls away.

The door shuts behind her, rattling the empty glasses on the coffee table.

“Dean—”

He’s interrupted by Dean’s lips on his own, rougher and more urgent than usual.

“Dean, what are you—”

“Shhh, Cas,” he says in between kisses.  “I need to forget about today.  Are you going to help me or not?”

Cas responds by wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck and tilting his head.  He feels Dean smile against his lips and allows himself to be pulled to the downstairs bedroom.


	21. How Are You Still Holding On?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a lyric from "One Day" by Kodaline. I'm going to try and update at least once a week from this point forward (things may get shaky around finals week but I'll put in a real effort).
> 
> I'm back on tumblr, so please check out my blog if you love destiel pics, fics, and posts [here](http://franticallyyodeling.tumblr.com/)

Cas is awoken by the high pitched wails of the phone ringing.  He rubs his aching neck and sits up on the couch.  He must’ve fallen asleep last night waiting for Dean to come home, though he doesn’t remember letting his head fall or getting the blanket that is now draped over him out of the closet.  Frankly, he doesn’t remember much from last night at all. 

He gets up, bracing himself against the arm of the couch as his head spins and he struggles to regain his balance.  Grabbing one of his crutches, he hobbles over to the kitchen and picks up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi, may I please speak to Dean Winchester?”

Cas glances down the hall at the cracked door.  He can just make out a lump under the comforter, still and silent.

“He’s not here right now.  Can I take a message?”

“Yeah, this is Tony from the shop.  He hasn’t been in in over a week, and we were just wondering if he’s coming in today.”

“I’m not sure,” Cas says.  “When he gets back, I’ll ask him to call you.”

“Thanks,” Tony says, and Cas moves to hang up, but he continues, “And, uh, could you let him know that the guys at the shop are, uh, really sorry for his loss?  John was a great guy.”

Cas leans against the counter, almost in the exact same place he stood when Dean told him what happened that afternoon. 

“I’ll let him know.”

Before Tony can respond, Cas clicks end and sets the phone back on the receiver.  He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before heading for their bedroom.  He knocks on the door lightly, even though he knows the sound of his crutch gave him away.

“C’mon in,” Dean murmurs into the pillow.

“Goodmorning, or should I say good afternoon,” Cas says.  He crosses the room and settles on the edge of the bed, rubbing Dean’s back gently.  “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck,” Dean replies without turning to face Cas.

“I didn’t hear you get home last night,” Cas says softly.

“When I got home you were out cold on the couch,” Dean explains.  “I thought about waking you up, but you haven’t been sleeping well, so I just got you a blanket and went to bed myself.”

_ So that’s where the blanket came from _ , Cas muses.  

“You got a phone call,” Cas says, internally cringing at the strangled sound of his voice.  

“Yeah?  Who was it?”

“The guys at the shop.  They wanted to pass on their condolences and were wondering if you’re coming in today.”

For a long moment, Dean doesn’t say a word, and Cas curses himself for bringing it up.  He knew the moment he stepped in that Dean wasn’t going to get out of bed today much less go to his father’s auto-shop.

“Maybe tomorrow,” Dean says at last.

“Okay,” Cas whispers.  “Is there anything I can bring you?”

“Some aspirin and water would be great.”

Cas gives Dean’s shoulder one last squeeze before struggling to his feet.  He’s breathing heavily when he arrives back at the kitchen, and as he pulls the aspirin out of the drawer, he catches a glimpse of the clock out of the corner of his eye.  One thirty.  Cas bites his lip and thinks about Meg sitting in the lobby glancing down at her wristwatch. 

But it doesn’t matter.  He’s can’t get to physical therapy by himself, and he’s not going to ask Dean to drive him.  After all, Castiel isn’t the only one who needs healing.

 

Cas picks up the phone, the familiar words sour as they roll off his tongue.

“He’s not here right now.  May I take a message?”

Tony greets him, asks him the same question he has every day for the past month and a half, before Cas promises to pass along his question, though he already knows the answer.  

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

Cas nods, forgetting that Tony can’t see him over the phone, but he continues without Cas’s assent.

“Is he doing okay?”

Cas remembers Dean stumbling in last night, as he has at least three times a week for the past five weeks, the smell of whiskey and stale cigarettes hanging over him as he ghosts from the door to bed.  

“He’s alright,” Cas lies.  “I’m sure he’ll be in any day now.”

Tony thanks him and hangs up, leaving Cas standing in the kitchen, the only sound the dull tone of the phone.  He’s snapped out of it by the frantic pounding on the front door.  Confused, he peers into the bedroom, but he can still see Dean lying on the bed.  Cas uses the counter to brace himself as he slides a crutch under each arm and begins the long trek down the hall.

He opens the door to reveal a furious looking Meg on his porch.  Without waiting for Cas to invite her in, or even to open the door all the way, she pushes past him.

“Where the hell have you been?” she demands.  

Cas rubs the back of his neck and tries to think of the reason that will upset Meg the least.

“Well, as I’m sure you’ve heard, Dean’s father passed away,” he says softly, trying to catch a glimpse of Dean to make sure he’s still asleep.  

“Yeah, I heard,” Meg says.  “What’s your point?”

“My point is I’ve been taking care of things around here.  Dean’s been having a pretty rough time, and I need to be here for him.  Like he was for me.” 

Cas adds the last part with a pointed look.

“Okay, that’s fine, but we’re not talking about a lot of time here.  We’re talking about an hour a few times of week.  Cas, you realize if you don’t keep up with physical therapy, you’re going to lose what you’re already learned, and you could never walk properly again?”

“Yes, I realize.”

“So what’s the problem!”

Cas feels his patience wear down, and he forces himself to take a deep breath before continuing. 

“The problem is my driver’s license expired after the accident, and I’m not going to make Dean drive me while he’s in this condition.”

The sound of rustling blankets emanates through the hall, as if reminding Cas and Meg that Dean’s right there.

“I get it,” Meg says.  “He’s having a hard time, but it’s been over a month since you’ve gone, and if he can’t take you, then you need to find another way, because if you don’t—”

“I know, I know,” Cas interrupts.  “I may never walk properly again.”

Meg rests her hand on Cas’s shoulder.  “Look, I know this whole thing must be hard for him—for both of you—but you can’t let yourself go by the wayside.  That won’t help anybody.”

Cas nods, and Meg pulls him into a hug, and, although she’s eight inches shorter, she supports them both as Cas holds on for dear life.


End file.
